Picture Perfect Words
by kouichi kimura 4eva
Summary: Author Arthur Kirkland is facing a slump when trying to complete the final novel to his popular series, but then finds more than just inspiration after meeting a blond photographer on the rooftop of his beloved abandoned school.
1. Victorian Rooftop

Chapter 1

Victorian Rooftop

_And then she walked up the lonely street as the night air hit her neck, sending a spin chilling breeze down her body. The city wasn't the place that she knew back in the day. No, it was more corrupted; more cold and less welcoming. It was almost evil. The way everybody rushed off to go about their day in that cold demeanour has rendered the city soulless, without spark. Without happiness. It was then she realized that at long last her..._

Arthur stopped writing and sat back on his chair, not knowing where to continue in his story. Once again, he has reached a certain point and didn't know how to continue on with the plot. Yesterday it was the same routine, and so was the day before that, and the day before that...and so on. Until he realized he hadn't gotten anywhere with his story at all. Again.

The writer rubbed his temples with his two fingers and sighed. This had been the third week that he hasn't been able to conjure up more material to finish up his story; the third week that he has been sitting behind his laptop and groaning, completely unmotivated and lacking the necessary ideas to meet the deadline for his novel. Sure, his last two novels had done extremely well, but if this book flopped then his career as an author will be over. Everyone will know him as the guy who wrote that crappy sequel because for some reason, people like to focus more on one's failures. It's as if people get a thrill out of watching others fail. Himself included.

The blonde pushed back his chair and made his way to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of tea. Tea had always calmed him whenever he was anything but happy. But after his sixth cup, it just wasn't doing it for him today...or any other day that involved him working on his novel for that matter.

Arthur placed his tea cup on the counter without bothering for any more tea since it wouldn't help him in his state. Perhaps some fresh air would do him some good. But then again, it probably wouldn't. Regardless, it was useless to stay inside all day if it was going to prove to be unproductive once again.

Pulling on his winter jacket and a scarf, he started to make his way out his house after he stepped into his winter boots. The snow wasn't as bad as it was last week, but it was still somewhat chilly. At least this time the snow wasn't up to his knees like last year when he didn't have the knee high boots he has now. Francis sure had a good laugh when Arthur showed up shivering in his wet socks at that Frog's house.

"Such a quiet street." he mumbled to himself as he continued to walk down the white path. Normally, the street would have been filled with people during any other time of the year. People shopping, going to work or play, or even just hanging around with their mates would fill the streets. But during winter things just die down. Perhaps the cold weather was just too much for the individuals who preferred staying in.

After arriving at his desired location, Arthur smiled as he glanced at the roof top of the tall old abandoned school in his neighbourhood. He didn't know why it was abandoned, but it's rooftop sure provided a peaceful atmosphere. Not only that, but the scenery from the rooftop was so amazing that even he, the oh so experienced writer, couldn't properly describe it in words. Even the words 'amazing' or 'spectacular' are understatements for the view. The only thing he wished was for him to remember to bring a camera whenever he decided to indulge himself in the beautiful scenery. But to his dismay, it always slipped his mind. Every single time. And today wasn't an exception, which made the author grumble in annoyance.

The man made his way into the building through the back as he slipped through the broken boards of wood that was supposed to cover up the various entrances of the building. The building itself, was just as amazing. It had a Victorian feel to its wooden designs and its age showed through the many cracks and grooves in the material that only made it all the more appealing to Arthur. He was a sucker when it came to anything from the Victorian or Renaissance era. Hell, anything that dated back from the Victorian period and further irked his interest like no tomorrow. The remnants of its history just calmed him to the point where he could lose himself in its beauty and in the wonderment of the skill level those who created them had.

Arthur glided his fingers across the textures of the wooden designs on the stair railing as he ascended up the spiral staircase. He wouldn't be surprised if this school was built back in the Victorian era and not just a mere imitation of that time period's design. The designs today just don't compare, and it's a shame that people actually prefer machine made designs that are "in" now over hand crafted beauty such as the ones present in this school. Maybe that's why they decided to close this school down; it's too old and people probably preferred modern designs. But he didn't care. Even though it took God knows how long to climb all the way to the top and it tired him to no end, he enjoyed every bit of it and took his time whenever he came here. It's almost like taking a long walk and being alone with your thoughts.

Finally, Arthur stepped onto the very top step and headed out to the roof of the school. He accidently stepped on some crumpled paper and what appeared to be a used juice box and a mushy sandwich bag. The man scrunched his face and continued towards to door.

"_Maybe I'm not the only who comes here."_ he thought.

With difficulty, Arthur pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the cold once again and shivered slightly. Except this time, he's probably ten stories from the ground with a magnificent view of the city. He started to head near the edge and noticed footsteps. Fresh footsteps to be exact. They didn't look like they have been there for a while because there would be fresh snow filled in them by now. Actually they looked like they were JUST made. Could someone else be there as well?

Following his curiosity, Arthur traced the way of the footsteps. They seem to be leading to the edge of the rooftop; the same way he was going anyways, so he might as well follow them. For all he knew, the person was probably gone already. But he was still curious nonetheless; curious of where exactly the footprints would lead; curious of how far towards the edge did the person walk.

Without taking his gaze off the footsteps, Arthur placed a foot into one of the prints and frowned. _"They have bigger feet than me."_ he thought to himself as he continued forward.

Arthur lifted his head from the ground and was shocked to find a male form standing close to the edge of the roof and gazing downwards. Too close to be safe actually. He was standing right at the edge where one would have to climb over to get there, and a simple tap would have probably sent him falling ten stories down the ground. The man didn't seem to noticed him as he continued to stare downwards towards the ground. Almost as if he was fixated on something; something on the ground; something...

No.

Tossing out all ideas of himself being the only presence on the roof, Arthur lunged forward, and being careful not to knock him over instead, grabbed the taller man by his waist and pulled him backwards, making them both fall back on the rooftop. The smaller man groaned a bit from the weight pressing down on him from above.

"J-just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur coughed up, not sure if the other man even heard his strained voice.

The taller man struggled from his gasp. "W-what?"

"I said, what the fuck were you trying to do?" he yelled, this time knowing for sure that he was heard quite clearly.

The taller man broke out of his hold and moved off of him. He sat next to him and tried to calm down his own breathing. "You scared the shit out of me, y'know!"

Arthur noted his American accent and knew immediately he wasn't from London. For all he knew, he was probably some crazy foreigner. "I do apologize, but I should be saying the same to you since you were the one trying to jump off this bloody building!"

The other blond fixed his glasses and panted, glaring daggers at the author. "You have some nerve."

"For trying to save your life? You fucking twat!" Arthur spat and stood up. This was the last time ever he tried to do anything nice for anyone.

"You ruined it for me!" The American followed him up and pointed accusingly at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Since when was suicide something that people fancied? Excuse me for being old-fashioned." he dusted off the snow from his jacket.

The taller man glared. "I wasn't tryin' to kill myself, pops. I was trying to get a picture of the city, old man." he pointed at the camera around his neck and Arthur sputtered, partly for being called out for his age in less than three minutes into their meeting but mainly for jumping the gun.

"W-well, you shouldn't have stood so close. What the hell was I supposed to think?" he tried to hide the heat crawling up to his face from embarrassment. If there was one thing that the Briton hated, it was being wrong. No, more like he hated being wrong AND looking like an idiot. And somehow he managed to pull off both today.

Arthur cleared his throat and decided that he should leave gazing at the city and being alone with his thoughts for another time. Obviously the mood was ruined and has probably rendered him even less productive for later. He took a walk to place himself in a better mood, and now that he was feeling even worse than before, he might as well call it quits for today. Maybe he'll try again tomorrow, unless someone else decided to ruin that too.

"Well, if you are alright then I guess I should take my leave." he nodded and turned around . "Good day."

"Hey, wait a sec!"

Arthur groaned and faced the boy once again. "What is it now? I didn't break your camera did I?" he asked rudely, not looking forward to the fact that he might have to dish out some money to replace a possible broken camera. If so, then he definitely won't ever do anything nice again if it was just going to make him suffer emotionally and financially.

"Aren't you that famous author? Arthur Kirkland?" the boy asked.

Arthur's interest perked and he turned fully around to face him.

"Yeah! You ARE him. I recognize you! You wrote the Dark Rose series, right?" the taller boy's smile widened.

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, I am." he held his smile.

"Oh my God!" he practically pounced the man and gave him a firm handshake that hurt Arthur's hand. "I love your books!"

"R-really now? I didn't think they were that popular with American readers." Arthur pulled his hand back and rubbed it slightly, trying to ease the pain.

"Are you kidding me? They're awesome!" he laughed enthusiastically and Arthur mentally slapped himself for thinking someone like him could be suicidal.

The younger boy's expression fell. "Oh man, I don't have any of your books on me. I really want your autograph." he pouted and Arthur smiled at the cute expression that reminded him so much of some of the younger fans that he always ran into.

The Briton cleared his throat. "Well, there will be a book signing going on later this month why don't you-."

"HEY WAIT!" the American grabbed the Briton's hand again, interrupting him and making him jump in the process. "Why don't you come to my place right now?" his loud voice pierced Arthur's ears and tempted the older man to tell him that he was standing right in front of him and that there was no need to be so loud.

"I'm sorry, but that's not-."

"Aw come on! Please Artie?"

Artie?

Arthur shook his head. "It's Arthur. And no, that's inappropriate. I don't even know your name for goodness sake!"

"My name's Alfred. I'm nineteen and I'm a freelance photographer who moved here from America. My hobbies include eating ice-cream, playing video games, and photography. Now can we go?" Alfred sputtered quickly and pulled on Arthur's arm. He really was like a kid.

Arthur eyed him suspiciously as he wondered if it would even be safe to visit a stranger's house let alone proper. Who knows, this kid could be waiting for him to let his guard down and then-BAM!

"I have a lot of photos that I want to show you too!"

Actually, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Besides, the photos could be just the inspiration Arthur needed to get himself out of his slump. Beautiful photography had always been a source of inspiration for him. That is where he got the idea for his series of novels after all. He could still remember it vividly; that gothic styled photograph of a single black rose on the marble step of a Victorian themed church. It was such a simple photograph and yet, it had so many meanings for him. Mainly because he was somehow able to identify himself with that lonely rose on the steps. It was almost as if he was the rose himself. The odd one laying on the steps while the red roses remained with one another in the rosebush faded into the background; the odd one that was excluded from the rest of the desired flowers and left on the steps to be later stepped on by those entering the house of God; the odd one that wasn't welcomed in the Lord's humble abode but only remained outside and with a tearful demeanour.

Arthur nodded. "Alright then. But just this once. And only because I'm curious about your work."

Alfred's smile lit up brighter than any light bulb. "Alright old man, you won't regret it!" he laughed wildly.

"I'm not that much older than you, lad." Arthur sighed.

"Yeah well, you sure act like one." he patted him on the back and Arthur coughed. Maybe he really was getting too old for this kind of behaviour. But then again, it was pretty refreshing to have someone as energetic as this Alfred fellow around.

Arthur fixed his scarf and ignored the latter comment. "So are we going or not? I don't have all day."

"Right right." Alfred quickly walked forward and opened the door for him. "Careful, don't want you to break those fragile bones of yours. The door's kinda heavy." he grinned as he held the door.

"Bloody git." Arthur mumbled and walked forward, still able to somehow thank Alfred for holding the door in a gentlemanly manner.

As they descended down the spiral staircase, Arthur noticed Alfred taking pictures every time they passed a different design engraved in the wood of the railings. It surprised the older man that someone as young as Alfred would be interested in old works of art; especially those that the youth nowadays couldn't bring themselves to give a least bit of their interest.

"I didn't know you were interested in this kind of thing." the Briton smiled at the younger man taking a picture of a carving of an angel on top of the railing. She was a bit faded, but her face was still beautiful nonetheless. But her expression of sorrow tugged Arthur's heart and he couldn't help but feel that her sadness was from the years of abandonment. Left there to rot with the rest of the beautiful unappreciated designs in the old building. If it wasn't for the faded varnish on the figure, Arthur would've expected actual tears from her eyes because of the realness in her expression.

"I just like to capture things before they fade." Alfred smiled as he checked the picture he took through the screen of his camera.

Arthur smiled again at the young man's way of thinking. "That's..." he stopped and couldn't find the words he wanted.

He was touched.

"That's exactly the reason I became a photographer in the first place." he aimed the camera at the female craving again and took another picture. "Because before you know it, things can be gone." he continued sadly and adjusted his camera.

"Alfred?" Arthur's mood softened as he looked at the saddened boy before him.

Alfred quickly snapped himself out of his thoughts and grinned. "Which is why we need to take more pics downstairs! Come on!" he practically raced down the stairs ahead of Arthur.

"Ah, wait." Arthur sighed. Really now, the boy was just too hyper for his liking.

**xxx**

"So what do you think?" Alfred blinked through the photos he took during the day on his camera. Arthur nodded at the various scenery photos and the ones he took inside the school. He hated to admit it, but the boy does have talent. Everything just looked so professional that he can't imagine how well done his work related photos are. Apparently he was just taking a break today and doing casual photography for his own amusement.

"I say, you do have a knack for photography." Arthur glanced over from his seated position next to Alfred. Chasing after the boy tired him out so much that needed a minute to compose himself before they headed out the school.

"Thanks, man." Alfred chuckled. "That means a lot coming from a celebrity."

"W-well..." the Briton smiled bashfully. "I'm not THAT famous, now"

"I wish I could write as beautifully as you can." Alfred said and Arthur was suddenly caught off guard at the unexpected compliment.

"W-well...I..."

"I mean..." Alfred continued. "...you can capture such beauty in your words that it's almost camera like. It's almost like a photograph with the way you describe things. It just..." he smiled at Arthur. "...makes me feel."

Arthur turned away and scratched the back of his head. "Never has anyone given me such a compliment. Thank you, Alfred." It's true though, the compliments the he was used to getting consisted of how much this person liked his book and how much that person fancied a particular character in his novel without too much of an explanation.

Alfred smiled again and turned off his camera. "I bet, you could preserve that female carving with your words better than any camera or photographer."

"You think so?" Arthur chuckled.

"Oh yeah. I bet you would put camera companies out of business with your writing."

The remark made Arthur laugh out, echoing his voice through the empty foyer of the abandoned school. The very thought of it was hilarious but it was also moving at the same time. He's never had a fan read so deeply into his writing before. At least none that he knew of. But Alfred didn't seem to take his words at face value like many of his fans. It's evident that the boy had definitely immersed himself into his writing and was able to understand that, yes, Arthur was indeed trying to capture the very essence of the London he once knew when he was a child. And that he was trying the best he can to preserve it so it wouldn't completely disappear and leave him unable to even imagine, let alone remember, how it was like; that he could go back and read his own writing and it would be like looking at an old photograph of the place he remembered.

He could get a million superficial compliments from his fans, but that amount wouldn't touch him the way Alfred's thoughts did; the way Alfred understood him.

"So, you ready to go now?" Alfred smiled and stood up, extending his hand to the older man.

Arthur simply smiled smugly and refused his hand. "I can get up on my own thank you very much." he stood up and brushed himself off.

Alfred chuckled "Whatever you say." With that, he pushed open the front door, letting in the afternoon sunlight that made Arthur squint.

The author finally looked up at the taller boy and took in his appearance bathed in sunlight. It was again like the scenery from the rooftop.

Indescribable.

The young man's bright beauty was indescribable to the author as he gazed at the bright light outlining Alfred's features. That light making his already attractive features more appealing than they were while enhancing the perfect shape of his shadow on the wall next to them. Arthur was only able to marvel at the sight before him without any words that can help him describe Alfred.

"_I guess there's another thing I can't described after all." _he thought to himself as they both headed out the school and into the winter street.

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p> 


	2. Bridge

Chapter 2

Bridge

"My word, Alfred." Arthur examined the many photos mounted and framed on Alfred's wall. "These are incredible." he touched his own chin as he marvelled at the professional pictures. Everything was just breath-taking.

"Thanks, Artie." he grinned and set down his camera. "It's all because of this baby." he patted the camera now sitting on his messy desk.

"It's Arthur." the author sighed with annoyance.

"Care for some coffee?" Alfred walked over to the kitchen part of his studio apartment and started a new brew. The older man simply shook his head with disgust.

"No thank you. I don't understand how you can drink something so grotesque."

"What? Coffee?" Alfred turned on the stove to boil the water. "I know some people don't like it, but I don't think they would consider it 'grotesque'. That's a little harsh." Alfred leaned against the counter and glanced over at the author still glazing at the photographs. "Any particular ones you like?"

Arthur stared at the one picture in the centre. "I quite fancy this one." he pointed at the black and white photo of a hand holding a baby chick in the middle of its palm. "It's cute." Arthur smiled warmly. "Who's hand is that?"

"Oh! That!" Alfred pushed himself off the counter and jogged over to the Briton. "That was when I visited a friend's farm back in the U.S. And that's my hand by the way." he grinned.

"Hmm..." Arthur smirked. "Well, I guess that's not surprising, considering its massive size. That poor chick." he feigned a dramatic sigh.

"That was cruel!" Alfred stuck his tongue out at the smirking author.

Arthur chuckled but couldn't help but feel a sense of security from the picture. The way that chick was warmly nestled against Alfred's palm brought him a sense of acceptance and tender care that was missing from his life for all those years by the people who should've cared for him. But for some reason is wasn't the chick's look of bliss that comforted Arthur, it was the fact that it was Alfred's hand that provided that tenderness that calmed him. It almost as if he had finally found that warmth that he had been looking for all his life through the picture. But of course he couldn't let the younger boy know that. He'd probably never let it up knowing that type of person he was.

"So would you like tea instead then?" Alfred said, finally breaking the silence and snapping Arthur out of his daze.

"Oh, yes that would be nice." he laughed nervously as he tried to compose himself to not look like an airhead.

"So British." the younger blond mumbled as he made his way back to the kitchen, earning a curse from Arthur.

"You don't happen to have more photos do you? These can't be the only ones you have."

Various objects clattered as Alfred tried to look for the forgotten tea leaves given to him by the nice lady living below him. He was never much of a tea person so the gift was eventually forgotten about and tucked away in his cupboards. The tin container did have a nice colour though, but it wasn't enough to make him drink the tea let alone try it. He finally spotted the small box and pulled it out of the cupboard.

"Yeah, I have tons." he fumbled with the box until he finally yanked the top open, spilling some of its contents on the counter in the process. "Hang on a sec." he panicked and tried to scoop up some of the tea leaves back into the tin box, earning s faint 'ugh' from Arthur.

Alfred whimpered and decided to just throw the handful of leaves into the teapot. It wasn't as if he knew how to properly make tea anyways. And plus, how hard was it to actually make it? It was probably exactly the same as making coffee. The American poured the boiled water in the kettle and left it there. "Alright. Let me get them out for you." he rushed over to the living room drawers and took out a number of thick folders. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Goodness."

"Yeah, am I blowin' your mind yet? I still have more but those are in storage, so you're gonna have to come back another time for them." he grinned.

Arthur opened the first folder and studied the various portraits of people, animals, and plants. Again, they were all professionally done and not a flaw was found in any.

"When were these taken?" Arthur asked, still flipping through the photos.

Alfred went over and sat on the arm of the couch next to Arthur. "Those date back to high school. I'm kinda embarrassed. They all look so noobish!" he laughed.

"What? How can you say that?" Arthur flipped through them. He just couldn't believe that Alfred would say something like that about his work. Even the ones he considered to be his worse work were beautiful to Arthur. Despite their professional level, that wasn't the only thing that drew Arthur to his works. Even Alfred's most "noobish" work seem to capture the very soul of whatever was photographed. The people in his photos are not like the ones you would see in magazines or in someone's random photo album on those social networking websites. Rather, they were candid shots of people in their most natural state. There was no fakeness in their smiles or postures. And they did not look like they had to prepare for the photoshoot by fixing their hair or smiling correctly, or even posing in a certain angel so they wouldn't appear "fat." They were just natural. Just naturally beautiful. Men, women, and children alike, all being natural and just... beautiful.

Arthur smiled and handed the folder back to Alfred. "You shouldn't say your work is bad no matter how much you think so."

"But-."

"They're fine, Alfred." the man interrupted.

Alfred laughed. "Whatever you say."

However, the same thing can't be said about Arthur. Whenever the author looked back at his old works, he had to do all he can to restrain himself from ripping up his manuscripts. Not only was his writing far from being at the professional level back then, but those were dark times. Completely dark times that befell him as he struggled to become what he is today. The many tears, heartbreaks and wild emotions that cut through him like a storm left scars that still come back and haunt him today. It was only through burying himself in his writing that he was able to get through life. Otherwise...actually he didn't even want to imagine the alternative.

Arthur reached over at the thinner folder. It was still thick though but it was still noticeably thinner than the first. The older man opened it and the vibrant colours practically exploded in his face after getting accustomed to staring at the black and white photos.

"Wow, just wow." he laughed.

"They're just an explosion of colour, right? Kinda like Skittles."

"I'll say." he admired the beauty in them all, noting the sudden mood change that the colourful pictures suddenly brought him.

Everything from the zoomed in picture of a bumblebee in a bright orange flower to the sublime shot of the greenery in a forest just gave off a hopeful outlook in this world that Arthur lost faith in a long time ago; the same world that Arthur considered the embodiment of everything but beauty and purity. It was just ironic that the source of Alfred's photos came from such a horrible world. Maybe the world was beginning to change after all. Or perhaps it was because Alfred looked at the world as something that was beautiful and pure, and that in turn enabled him to create something beautiful. Could it be? Could Alfred be the one making the world a beautiful place for Arthur? Could something as simple as having a different outlook on the world change the way a person lives?

Arthur kept his smile as he went through the giant pile of photos until he stumbled upon one that looked as though it was ripped in two and then tapped back together. It puzzled the author because he couldn't figure out if it was genuinely ripped in two or if it was a new style of art. He held the ripped photo of a small bridge overarching a pond in front of him.

"What happened to this one?"

Alfred paused after realizing the photo that the Briton had stumbled upon. His look softened as he turned his gaze away and headed back to the kitchen. "I think your tea is ready." he walked over to the counter and checked the kettle.

Arthur merely stared at the young man and then back at the photograph. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the boy didn't want to talk about anything concerning the picture. Either Alfred really didn't like the way the photo turned out, or there was an underlying meaning the photo had for him. But for some reason the author knew it was the latter. Regardless, if Arthur was going to keep pressing him about it, then he would be the biggest idiot in the world. He only hoped the young photographer was alright.

"What do you want in your tea?" Alfred asked with his back facing Arthur.

"Oh, anything's fine. Thank you." Normally Arthur would be picky as hell with the way his tea was prepared but even he knew that now wasn't the time to be picky. The last thing he wanted was for someone to feel the same kind of hurt he felt in the past because of unhealed wounds. The least he could do was think about someone else besides himself for once.

The Briton kept his eyes on the photograph. Obviously with the way the picture was ripped, it wasn't accidental. It looked more like someone blatantly took the picture and ripped it in half in a fury. The only thing that bothered him was why Alfred would do such a thing, especially if he claimed that photography was his one passion. Maybe it's another mystery he'll never have the answer to. But it was still a sad thought though. The picture expressed so much beauty, and something must have greatly affected Alfred for him to go as far as to rip it. The warm colours of the Autumn weather surrounded to bridge standing in the middle perfectly. There was even a few people passing by on the bridge, making it all the more natural looking. It was so perfect that Arthur could say that it was probably his favourite out of them all. It was just a shame that that might not be the case for Alfred. The poor boy probably felt so awful about ripping it that he quickly taped it back together. Although the rip did add a certain flair to the whole thing...

"That was for my brother."

Arthur looked up to find the younger blond standing in from of him with tea in one hand and coffee in another. The author nodded and accepted his cup. "Thank you, Alfred."

"It was one of my last works back in my amateur photographer days." he took a seat next to Arthur and sipped on his coffee.

Arthur took a small sip of his tea and tried not to scrunch his face up at the flavour. He placed his cup down on the coffee table in front of them. "If it was for your brother then what happened to it?"

Alfred sighed and took the photo from Arthur. "It was his birthday and I thought it would be nice to give him a nice portrait to hang up on that plain white wall in his room." he smiled and kept his eyes on the picture.

"This bridge was where we used to play all the time back in elementary school. I mean, we didn't always play there, we also hid there from the bullies that messed with us and sometimes from grownups that scolded us."

Arthur nodded to encourage him to continue on.

"And being the poor teenager that I was, I thought this would make a nice birthday present since I couldn't afford anything else that he would like. But-." Alfred's smile died down and he sighed. "Sorry, this is probably depressing you." he laughed.

"No, no. Go on." the author pressed knowing full well that he could be treading on private territory that Alfred might not welcome strangers. But then again, if the boy didn't want to talk about it, he probably would've brushed it off and ignored it. It's not like the older man would have forced it out of him if he didn't want to have anything to do with it.

Alfred nodded back and looked at the picture again. "My parents have always hated the idea of photography and me going together. My brother was studying to go to med school and they wanted me to do the same. To continue the family tradition, you know?" Alfred fidgeted uncomfortably, and as Arthur was about to open his mouth to tell him that he didn't have to continue on if he didn't want to, he continued.

"So one day I came home with this." he pointed at the photo. "And my parents found it before I could even give it to him. The next I know, they rip the thing in front of me and told me to stop distracting myself and my brother with useless crap."

Arthur just couldn't believe what he was hearing. It definitely wasn't something that he expected out of someone as cheerful as Alfred.

"I didn't think too much about it at the time, but I just told myself that everything will be alright as long as I went back to the bridge and take another photo to give to my brother in private later on. But-." Alfred paused.

"But?"

"But.." he took a deep breath and his voice quivered. "But when I went back they were tearing down the bridge." he laughed. "Isn't that just the darndest thing?" he continued laughing as if he heard a funny joke. "Apparently the locals were complaining about some safety issue or something like that! I just couldn't believe it!"

"I-I suppose..." Arthur replied sensing the obvious hurt in Alfred's voice despite his laughter, which raised all the more concern in the older man.

Alfred's laugh died down and a sense of sadness weld up in him that even Arthur could see. "When I went home I said some really nasty things to my parents. Then I told them I was going to be a photographer and that they can take being a doctor and shove it up their ass. They kicked me out and said they never wanted to see me again, and now here I am." he quickly finished off. "Sorry for the long story."

Arthur shook his head. "It's fine, lad." he tried to smile warmly to reassure Alfred.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Alfred just stared into his coffee awkwardly while Arthur sat there still flipping through the photos, except now he wasn't really taking them in the way he was before. He was merely using them to distract himself from the horrible story that just came out of Alfred's mouth and also trying to figure out a proper way to break the silence.

"So what's your story?" Alfred turned to Arthur and smiled. "I know you're an author and all, but I was just wondering if-."

"You're not alone, boy."

"What?" Alfred blinked.

Arthur hesitated and set the photos back into their folder and onto the coffee table. "I'm just saying, you're not alone. You're not the only one who feels like that." Arthur swallowed hard. Normally he wouldn't let a stranger into his personal life, but this was an exception. Never has he had someone who experienced the same kind of pain as he has. And it was Alfred out of all people.

"Just...if you ever need to talk..." he said awkwardly.

Alfred stifled a laugh. "Thanks."

Arthur nodded and finished his tea. "So how were you able to get here from America anyways? If I remember correctly, it's quite far and you did say you didn't have much money."

"Yeah, I was a bit worried myself when I left my home with nothing but my stuff and only enough money to get me by for a week. I was lucky I got in touch with an online friend living over here who let me stay at his place for a while." he took his and Arthur's cups and placed them in the sink.

"Want any snacks?" he asked from the kitchen.

"No thanks. And you trusted this online friend of yours?" Arthur asked with confusion. He didn't know if it was his untrusting nature or because of the horror stories he heard about meeting online friends, but the idea irked the older man.

"Sure! Kiku's a nice guy. We met through this mmorpg and talked pretty much every day. I should introduce him to you sometime." he grabbed a chocolate bar from the counter.

"And how long have you've known him exactly?"

Alfred opened the chocolate bar and bit into it while thinking. "Maybe two years?" he said with his mouth full as he shrugged.

"Well, you're not dead, so I suppose that counts for something." Arthur replied.

Alfred laughed. "It'll take more than someone like Kiku to kill me, dude. Besides, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"If you say so." Arthur said getting up from his spot.

"Aw, you leaving already?" Alfred pouted with the chocolate bar still in his mouth.

"I need to get back home to work on my novel. Your pictures really did quite a number on my inspiration. I need to get my ideas down before I forget them." he smiled and grabbed his jacket. "Thank you for the tea." he added.

"No biggie!" Alfred exclaimed. "I should be thanking you for the autographs!"

Arthur smiled at the way Alfred wasted no time and dove for his two novels as soon as they walked into his place. Even those claiming to be his biggest fans didn't jump for his autograph the way this boy did. It was nice, really. To have someone admire your work the way Alfred did and to also have a nice chat as well. It was refreshing since all he had experienced for years was a sense of loneliness with no one he could really talk to about his work besides his editor who only cared for it because of the financial rewards it brought in; and no one he could confide in when his loneliness was at its peak and overwhelmed him. Yes, it was nice to feel that he can finally talk to someone again, even if they had just met a while ago.

The author smiled at Alfred and took out a business card left over from his previous book signing from half a year ago. He reached for a pen a scribbled down his private number and address. "I don't normally give out my personal number and address, but if you need to talk, I'm free whenever. It's not like I can go out anywhere when I have a damn novel to work on." he handed the card to the surprised younger boy. "Just please don't give it out to random people. I really don't need to experience THAT again." he said, referring back to a certain incident involving a certain French man that he knew and leaving Alfred a bit puzzled.

The younger blond accepted the card. "Whoa. Thanks!"

Arthur stepped into his winter boots and zipped them up. "Please come to my book signing next Monday. I would very much enjoy your company Alfred." he wrapped his scarf around himself.

"Oh don't worry. I'm there! I would have showed up even if you didn't invite me."

The older blond snickered and opened the door. "I hope you do not run around saying that to anyone. I don't think that will give off the right impression."

"I do have some restraint, Artie. So don't worry about me." he waved his hand at him.

"Right, right. See you later then." he nodded and started heading out to the stairs that lead out of Alfred's apartment.

"Arthur?"

The man turned around questionably, wondering if he was called back for forgetting something.

Alfred fidgeted again, almost appearing child-like behind the door. "Thanks for listening..." Alfred scratched the back of his head with embarrassment. "I don't get that too often. So, thanks..." he blushed and looked up to meet eyes with Arthur, who wasn't too far from embarrassment either.

Arthur turned away. Being thanked for giving a listening ear wasn't something that happened often for the author as well, so naturally he felt strange about the whole thing. Possibly even stranger than Alfred. "It's not that I..." he struggled but couldn't get the words out.

"...nevermind." he sighed. "You're welcome, Alfred." he replied with defeat.

Alfred beamed brightly. "See you next Monday." he said and quickly closed the door. Arthur heard a click on the other side of the door and resumed making his way out.

**XXX**

That night Arthur flushed out another ten pages before finally stopping to call it a night. The author was astounded by the rush of inspiration that hit him the same way it did during the time of his first novel if not better. It was quite strange how his source of inspiration came from the least unexpected person under the most unexpected circumstances. If he was to write a novel about the encounter he had, it would be just perfect for a fictional story because it just seemed so unreal; meeting a strange boy who he thought was going to jump off of the rooftop of his favourite building and then having him become his muse. That would be an interesting read for his fans.

Arthur stretched and shut down his laptop. He was still nowhere near the completion of his book, but this had been the most progress he's ever had for the past three weeks. Normally he would only write around three pages, so today was a huge progress for him. But oddly, his inspiration didn't come from all of Alfred's photos. They were all beautiful and he absolutely loved them, but there was only one photo that hit him differently than the others. It hit him so hard that he would have choked on his own tears if he hadn't taught himself to toughen up his emotions when he was younger.

That ripped up photo.

That ripped up photo that radiated so many emotions that it would have been hard for Arthur to stare at it for a long time with deep thought if it wasn't for Alfred there to distract him with his voice; that photo that contained so much hurt and pain that Arthur could feel the tears well up in his eyes when he was staring at it. He practically felt the pain of everything falling apart for Alfred recorded in that photo and the younger boy's heart crying out for release from his pain. And yet, it was the same pain that the younger boy wanted to preserve the same way he preserved everything beautiful he saw. Almost as if he wanted to remind himself of the importance of holding onto something that was beautiful before it faded away by holding on to the pain of his past. Yes, that pain...

That familiar pain that Arthur knew too much about.

Oh the irony.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	3. Beauty

Chapter 3

Beauty

After the Briton had left, Alfred glanced back at the folder on his coffee table and flipped it back open to a certain ripped up photo of a bridge that he found nearly painful to look at every time he stumbled upon it. He picked up the photo and resumed the same position as Arthur did on the couch and stared at its worn out condition both from old age and from the many times that Alfred has taken it out of the folder just to remember his brother. The major thing that was going through his mind since his arrival in London was whether his parents and his younger brother knew where he was. Or if they even cared for that matter. Well, if he could remember correctly, the last time he checked his emails and social networking, there were no new messages from any of them and there were definitely no actually letters delivered to his place from his former residence, so maybe he shouldn't concern himself too much with it. He did come to London for a reason after all. Some might call it running away while others called it leaving problems behind, but for Alfred, it was called a fresh start.

The young man smiled to himself as he remembered the good times that he and his younger brother had back in the day. Everything from playing in the playgrounds with other kids when they were little to the last time Alfred had seen his brother near the end of his final year in high school. He even considered his brother his best friend at the time since the two really only had each other besides a few odd friends here and there from school. Those were the times, but unfortunately even Alfred was smart enough to realize that those things can't last forever no matter how good they may seem at first. The only thing that he regretted was the fact that his brother probably didn't know anything about Alfred's gift. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to think that he had forgotten about his birthday. But not everything always goes as planned. If they did, then Alfred wouldn't be in London in the first place.

When Alfred's phone rang he quickly closed the folder and jogged up to the phone, thinking it was work related. _"Maybe they need another photo of the Big Ben."_ he thought to himself.

"Hello?" he picked up the phone.

"Hello, Alfred-san?" came a soft voice of a man on the other end.

Alfred's face brightened even if the last time they spoke was a couple of days ago but mostly at the fact that it wasn't another work call asking him to travel a long ways away to photograph something for some weird magazine again. "Kiku! What's goin' on buddy?" the blond smiled and took a seat with his cordless between his hand and ear.

"Good, thank you." the man smiled on the other end. "I was thinking maybe we could go see the new horror movie that just came out. Unless you are busy right now?" the Japanese man inquired politely, a quirk that Alfred always poked fun at him about.

"No way! I'm there!" Alfred pumped his fist with excitement. Even though horror movies scared him so much that he couldn't even keep his eyes on the screen, he can never resist an offer to go watch one with a friend. Especially Kiku who for some reason keeps the same pokerface right until the end of the film no matter how scary the American found it.

"Alright then. I shall see you at six?"

"Yep!" Alfred smiled.

"Alright. Goodbye."

After hanging up, Alfred grabbed his jacket and headed for his door. At the moment, he didn't care if he ended up wetting his pants in the theatre from sheer terror or even vomiting from fear for that matter, a night out with a friend was a good night out and he wasn't the type who would miss out on something as joyous. When he went for his shoes, his eyes fell on the folder on the coffee table and a wave of pain hit him again. The only thing he could do was pick it up from the coffee table with a frown. The blond took one more look in the folder before closing it and tucking it in the back of one of the drawers in the living room, hoping that it would eventually be forgotten; hoping that his pain will eventually be forgotten.

**XXX**

_A tear rolled down her cheek and nearly froze from the cold winter wind. Her eyes red from the sharp breeze cutting through her pale skin and lips no longer the healthy pink but instead are pale and chapped from wind burn. She had no clue how long she had been wandering around the dreadful city for nor how many times she had circled the same block, but the only thing that mattered was that anywhere was better than home. Even the streets. _

Arthur sat back and re-read what he had so far for his novel and sighed. It was still not as well written as he intended it to be despite his initial burst of inspiration from looking at Alfred's photos. As the days went by, that inspiration just seemed to disappear again, leaving him without many ideas that he could work with.

"Bollocks." he mumbled to himself as he rested a hand on his forehead. He had been up all night and his concentration was starting to wear off. And badly too. He couldn't even stand looking at the same Vista screen for more than five minutes anymore let alone continue writing.

But oddly enough, the blond author found himself thinking about Alfred again. When he came to a stump, he would think about seeing the younger blond for maybe some more inspiration. He kept thinking about him over and over again until it became a an actual desire to want to see the energetic youth rather than a compulsory need in order to get his inspiration running. He even considered calling Alfred up for some idle chat or to make plans to visit him for the company, but it didn't take long for him to realize that he had neglected to ask the boy for his home number. The Briton _could_ have just shown up at his house since he knew where he lived, but he had a feeling that that would give Alfred the wrong idea.

Perhaps his lack of a companion was finally starting to get to him.

Arthur rubbed his temples and finally decided to check the time on the grandfather clock standing on the other side of his study room.

Those tired emerald eyes widened.

"JESUS!" he jumped up from his seat and quickly shut down his computer after saving his work. His book signing was supposed to be at nine in the morning and it was already eight fifty-five a.m. How in the world did he manage to not notice the time, he'll never know, but all he knew was that getting to the bookstore took at least fifteen minutes and there was no way he could get there on time even if he took the fastest tube available in London.

Arthur stumbled while getting dressed and even stubbed his toe a few times, causing the man to curse. Without wasting any time, Arthur slammed his front door shut and bolted down the street in less than two minutes, which is the fastest it had ever taken him to get ready or the day.

"Just great..." he huffed as he examined the streets with no means of transportation in sight. It seems whenever he needed a ride, there was none in sight. It almost always involved either he missed the bus by barely a second or for some reason none of the cabs happen to pass his direction that day. Or if he went back inside to call for a cab, it would take longer than usual to show up for him. He basically concluded that he had the worse luck in England in anything involved in his life for that matter. Everything from being assigned a childhood nemesis as his editor to having the worse luck possible when it came to transportation. It was actually to the point where the author just decided to "fuck it" and find his own means of transportation whenever he needed it, even if it meant him being late. As for his editor, that was a more complicated scenario.

The author sighed and was considering calling his wanker of an editor to cancel the book signing, until he was distracted by the sound of a distant moped engine to his left. The man glanced up and was greeted by a familiar grinning blond looking rather amusing on that ugly vehicle.

"Artie! Mornin'! What are you doing standing there all by yourself? Shouldn't you be at the book signing already?" he asked stopping in front of Arthur.

Alfred!

Arthur didn't hesitate and climbed on the back on Alfred's moped as if he was a Godsend. He wrapped his arms around the younger man's torso. "Go!" he demanded.

"W-what?" Alfred laughed.

Arthur balled up his fists into Alfred's jacket. "I'm late you git!"

"Late? How come?" Alfred blinked at the shorter man whose fists were ready to smack some sense into the younger blond.

"Do you want to be the next J.F. Kennedy?"

"Alright! Jesus Christ!" Alfred whined and started up the ride again and off they went. Not at a fast speed, but still faster than walking or running by foot.

"What happened?" Alfred laughed nervously, assuming that now that they were moving the author wouldn't mind him asking. "And I thought I was gonna be the late one to attend."

Arthur blushed as the wind sped through his hair, messing it up even more than before. He didn't know whether he should tell Alfred why exactly he was late or just live with that knowledge rather than risk being laughed at for his negligence.

"Well, why are YOU late?" Arthur retorted.

Alfred swallowed hard and smiled nervously even though the older man couldn't see his expression from the other side. "Why?" he chuckled.

"Why did you ask me then?" Arthur replied with his eyes glued on the road ahead, inwardly chanting for them to somehow go faster or at least have time slow down.

Alfred sighed in defeat. "I overslept, okay?" he blushed and the Briton chuckled.

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

"Thanks."

The moped was not going as fast as Arthur would want it to go at all and for sure they would be extra late upon arrival, but for some reason Arthur felt calm while he sat at the back and enjoyed everything that passed them. Maybe it was because it was the first time he had ever ridden a moped, but it didn't have the excitement of experiencing something for the first time. Or maybe, just maybe, for once he didn't have to rely on himself to get somewhere for once; for once he could count on someone to be there for him while he was in need; for once he didn't feel alone and reliant on only himself.

The author remained silent and wished that time had indeed slowed down just to have this moment last longer. No pushy editor screaming at him for deadlines, no fanatic fans begging for autographs or pictures, no...nothing. Just sheer bliss of relaxation that made his eyelids droopy from the lack of sleep he had the previous night. The only thing he did was smile slightly and close his eyes, enjoying what little time he had left on this peaceful ride before the noisy bookstore; before a noisy reality.

Alfred took a quick peek behind him and noticed that the older man had fallen asleep on his back. He chuckled and continued forward on his moped without waking him.

**XXX**

"Artie." Alfred said as he parked his ride on the side of the street. They had arrived twenty minutes late thanks to some pedestrians and Arthur was still fast asleep on Alfred's back. The younger blond moved his body slightly to stir the author but the older man remained asleep.

Alfred sighed and glanced in the window of the bookstore to find a massive crowd of people waiting in line and a tall slender man trying to calm the crowd blasting many questions at him all at once. The blond could only guess what kind of questions they were asking. Probably stuff along the lines of "Where the hell's Mr. Kirkland?" or something like "How long do we have to wait?" Alfred shook his head sympathetically at the sleeping man behind him and was about to sling his arm over Arthur's shoulder to drag him in, but then he suddenly realized what the street they were on. He glanced around and smiled at St. James park (1) nearby in the distance.

"Oh, well. You'll thank me for this later." he patted the sleeping man and started up his moped towards said park. His fans will have to wait because Arthur was in no condition to deal with fanatic fans right now.

**XXX**

"_You're garbage do you know that? Don't ever show your face around here again you scum!"_

_Arthur backed away as he fought with everything he had to stop the tears threatening to run down his face. He had been invited by Peter himself to celebrate his graduation and the last day of elementary school. Little did he know that their eldest brothers would inform their father of the second youngest brother's presence. Peter had planned for it to be a private celebration between him and Arthur but somehow their elder siblings found out and did not hesitate to tell their father. _

"_Father. I only came to see Peter..."_

"_I said get out!"_

_Arthur sighed as he took one last glance at the crushed gift under his father's foot. It was the Peter Rabbit snow globe that his younger brother had his eye on ever since they spotted it in the local shop when Arthur was still living with them. The older man did not hesitate to buy it for his younger sibling when he was asked to spend the day with him. Just a gift to commemorate the time he spend with the little lad who was always so enthusiastic about everything Arthur did._

_Arthur patted Peter's head while the younger child hiccupped and sniffed. "Stiff upper lip." he smiled. "Congratulations little man. I'm really proud of you."_

_Peter nodded through his tears. "Thank you." he whimpered._

_With that, Arthur brushed pass his elder siblings and then his glaring father and mother who stood near the entrance of their giant house, waiting for the blond male to take his leave and never come back again._

"_Goodbye Peter."_

Arthur gasped as he sat up. That blasted dream again. He panted as he scanned his surroundings to try and figure out where exactly he was. For sure he wasn't in his bedroom unless he moved it outside in a park-like areas without remembering. Or maybe he had a bit too much to drink the night before and ended up passing out in public. He was pretty sure his editor would love to hear about how that would fuck up both of their careers.

"Oh, you're awake?"

Confused, Arthur looked up to find a smiling blond sitting next to him and a certain someone's backpack resting under him.

It only took Arthur a few seconds to blink himself back to reality and to remember the book signing that was supposed to take place today. He jolted from his spot.

"T-the book signing!" he panicked.

"Don't worry about it! I took care of everything." Alfred laughed gesturing for him to lie back down on the book bag, which raised the bar on Arthur's panic meter even more.

Arthur ignored his gesture and jumped on his feet. "What did you do?" he looked around the park. "And where the hell are we?"

"St. James Park." Alfred replied matter-of-factly. "I drove you here when you were asleep, pops."

Arthur blinked again. "Why are we here?" he burst out.

"You looked like you needed the rest." Alfred pulled him back on the bench. "Besides, you would have died if you went into the book store. It was a mad house in there. And I mean the type where you would probably get your shirt ripped off by the fans in there." he joked.

"I need to go back, Alfred! My editor is there!" he pleaded.

"So what?" Alfred merely shrugged with his who-gives-a-fuck attitude.

"So what? SO WHAT? That's my career on the line you dolt!" he pinched the bridge of his nose due to his failed attempt of making the younger man understand. But mostly from the fact that Alfred doesn't seem to register the severity of the situation.

"Then tell 'em you were sick when you get home. What's the big deal?" he shrugged again but with an annoyed sighed this time. Who was he to get annoyed with Arthur?

Arthur slapped a hand on his own forehead and groaned, having given up all hope to reason with the younger blond. "Just take me back there. Now."

"No."

Arthur flared up. "Do you have any idea-."

"Just relax, okay?" Alfred said as he pulled him back down on the book bag. "Those dark circles under your eyes don't make you look any younger." Alfred held him down. "Now go to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up, so relax."

Arthur felt a sense of relaxation suddenly hit him with the way Alfred's tone addressed him. It was so reassuring and protective that the Briton couldn't help but hold his tongue back from lashing out at the younger man. Besides, it was a nice feeling considering the awkward dream he had. That nasty dream he had been having every now and then since the day that particular incident in his dream took place. He knew, logically speaking, that he should be heading back to the book store in a fit and contemplating murdering the blond sitting next to him, but he couldn't and wouldn't for that matter. Arthur sighed in defeat. Well, it wasn't like he could get back there by foot anyways since his only ride was Alfred. So he might as well enjoy what little relaxation he could get out of it. Maybe it was actually his fatigue that was making him hold back from lashing out at Alfred, but either way, he didn't feel like going back to the bookstore anymore.

Arthur stretched and snuggled against the bag. _"Perhaps a bit of rest will not hurt. I'll just deal with Alfred afterwards."_ he thought to himself before closing his eyes.

Alfred glanced down and smiled at the now sleeping Briton and noted to himself how peaceful the man looked despite the scowl on his face. He really should learn how to relax, but then again then same can be said about himself. It's not like he was to most carefree person in the world anyways. He had his own worries, and they weren't going away time soon.

Alfred took out his camera and decided to look around the park to find something to photograph to pass the time. At least that way, it looked better than sitting there and doing nothing while Arthur slept. Plus, if one of Arthur's fans passed by, there needed to be someone there to fend them off for him. Like they say, there's nothing more vulnerable than a sleeping man.

Alfred chuckled at the thought of the Briton flailing his arms after being woken up by a crazed fan for an autograph, or, dear he say, even a picture. He could practically imagine the Englishman looking less than photogenic after being woken up and then complaining about how that awful photo could appear in the paper with the headlines: "Author Arthur Kirkland Homeless: Caught Sleeping at St. James Park Bench All Alone." That would actually be extremely funny to the American considering the way Arthur would look in the photo, but it probably wasn't too appealing of a thought to said older blond.

Alfred spotted a little sparrow that had landed on the tip of Arthur's shoe and attempted to photograph quickly. It had the prettiest light brown feathers and a tiny bit of white on its chest. Alfred had seem them around often but he didn't know what kind of bird it was. It wasn't like he was an animal expert or a zoologist or anything. The only thing he wanted to do was to capture its beautiful innocence as it pecked at Arthur's shoe. But to his avail, the bird flew away as soon as Alfred readied himself to photograph it; almost as if it knew Alfred was trying to capture her and decided to tease the young man. She flew away in a you-can't-catch-me manner, leaving Alfred pouting from his seat.

"Fine. Be that way." Alfred chuckled and resumed looking around the park for something else he could capture.

After a while, the blond settled for photographing some nearby trees that were covered in snow and the few people that walked by, who did not hesitate to stare at the older man sleeping next to him.

Alfred puffed out a few breathes into the cold weather and watched the white cloud-like shapes drift from his lips. He attempted to photograph them, but in the end felt ridiculous. He hated to admit it, but he was bored out of his mind at the moment. He would take out one of his books to read, but that would more than likely wake the sleeping author next to him. And that was something he did not want to do judging by the shorter man's temper.

The younger blond set his camera on his lap and ran a hand through his locks. He looked at Arthur and thought how weird it was for him to fall asleep like that in such cold weather. It wasn't a blizzard outside, but it was still cold nonetheless, and Alfred couldn't even bring himself to imagine how he would be able to sleep in this weather. But the man _did _look awfully tired though. Maybe if Alfred was as tired as him, he would be able to sleep anywhere in any condition as well?

Alfred brought a hand up and reached for the bangs covering the Briton's eyes and stopped. Maybe he shouldn't. Especially if the man woke up. He would think Alfred was trying to do something to him and then he would have hell to pay, or at least embarrassment from the locals witnessing him getting lashed at by the feisty Briton. The blonde shook his head of all thoughts and gently brushed a few loose locks out of Arthur's face. He only wished Arthur would relax more. The first time Alfred laid eyes on him, the telltale bags and tired look in his eyes where what first caught his attention. The man had features that were too nice to be scrunched up all the time in frustration, especially if it was frustration caused by his job. Those thick eyebrows and beautiful green eyes... and not to mention that perfect complexion that he was sure all the girls back in New York would kill to have had no reason to be hidden behind a look of complete exhaustion all the time. All these attractive features where what Alfred noticed when he saw the author's picture for the first time on the inside of the dust cover of his second book. When the younger man read the first book, he had thought it was a middle-aged chubby man with glasses that wrote something as sophisticated as Arthur did. But when he saw the real identity of the mastermind behind the genius words, his mind was blown. Not only was this Arthur Kirkland fellow much younger than he anticipated, but he wasn't bad looking either. The way he smiled in his picture and the way his messy hair framed his face perfectly made him look so ...natural.

Naturally beautiful.

Alfred smiled down at Arthur. He knew the moment he saw his picture that he wanted to meet the man behind such a great talent of writing. But he also felt a sense of pain from the man's picture that was similar to his own that he couldn't describe. Arthur was smiling but those eyes had a melancholic light in them that made Alfred want to reach out and ask him about what scars he was carrying from his past. It was strange really. The younger blond almost felt as if he connected with him just by staring at his picture. Weird. But true.

Alfred flinched his hand back when the Briton stirred a bit in his sleep and mumbled something incoherent. The older man's expression softened as a slight smiled formed on his face, making him look more peaceful than he did initially. Alfred sighed in relief that Arthur had finally seem to calm down a bit. At least now he didn't have that contorted expression on his face when he should have been relaxing.

"I wonder if all authors are as stressed out as you." he laughed and brushed a few locks out of his face when a breeze moved them over his eyes again.

"You're a mystery, Kirkland."

**XXX**

"Bonjour sleepyhead. I am talking to you."

Arthur's face twitched and as he slowly opened his eyes to find the familiar face of a particular French editor named Francis who he loathed towering over him.

"Ugh. What time is it?" he sat up rubbing his eyes as he groaned. Unlike being greeted by the white surroundings of a winter themed park earlier, the first thing he saw wasn't exactly something that would put him in a good mood. No, not with that face that pissed him off to no end.

The French man scoffed. "Way pass the time you should have been here for the book signing. Mon Dieu, everybody's gone now you useless scoundrel!"

Arthur ignored every word that came out of the French man's mouth while not recognizing the cramped up room he was in at the moment. "Where...?"

"The backroom of the bookstore." he replied rather snobbishly.

Arthur blinked the sleep from his eyes. Wasn't he just at the park with Alfred? If so, then how the hell did he get here? Surely his time at the park with said blond couldn't have been a dream, could it?

"But how-?"

"Your blond girlfriend brought you." Francis sat on the desk across from the couch Arthur was on. "I don't understand why he couldn't have brought you sooner. Did you know what I had to go through to maintain such a big crowd?"

Arthur patted down his bed hair as he fingered the material of his jacket. "Like I care..." he mumbled without meeting eye contact with Francis.

The French man shrieked what sounded like a "oh how rude!" before crossing his arms in disapproval at the author's reluctance. Arthur hid his smirk, recalling how much he loved to piss off the French man. Besides, it wasn't like the other man was a saint anyways. He was the one who bailed on him to go sleep with some English hooker during the last book signing, so Arthur had an excuse to be a dick once in a while, even if that "once in a while" meant almost every time he saw Francis.

Arthur looked around the room, half expecting Alfred to be sitting there waiting for him, but to his disappointment found no one. "Where's Alfred?" he asked.

"Qui?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and grumbled. "My _girlfriend_, as you said." he mocked, trying to fight the heat traveling up his face because of the term he used to describe Alfred.

Francis smiled. "Ah, oui. He was very _mignon_. So Alfred is his name, you say?" he grinned suggestively, immediately making a feeling of disgust crawl up Arthur's throat.

"_Oui_. Where is he?" Arthur replied sternly, again mocking the Frenchman.

"He left after he dropped you off. Something about work, I think."

"Oh." Arthur turned his gaze down toward his folded hands.

"Oh, are you sad? You know, you could have called in sick if you had a date with Blondie and wanted to skip out on the book signing." he teased.

"It's not like that!" Arthur shot with anger. In fact it was far from that. Yes, he was hoping for the younger blond's company but nothing along the lines of a date. No, it was definitely not something as ridiculous as that. Arthur sighed. No, he wanted to feel the enthusiasm and passion the young photographer had for his work that he himself lacked. Maybe if he could remember what it felt like to be happily writing again, he could overcome whatever it was that was stopping him from completing his work. It wasn't as if he lost interest in writing itself, but more like he lacked a muse.

Besides, he didn't seem like the type Alfred would go for anyways.

"Stop being so snappy. It's no wonder you haven't release la tension sexuelle in such a long time. No one wants to be with you!" Francis shrugged ignoring the pain Arthur had just dealt from throwing a pen that was on the couch at him. But the Frenchman decided to back off for today since Arthur wasn't looking his normal self. Usually the author would have grabbed Francis by the collar and threatened to murder him because of such a comment, but today it didn't seem like he was even trying, so the Frenchman was actually slightly worried; even if they were far from friendly terms.

"Please just stop talking for once." Arthur swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat with his forehead resting in his hands.

"But I am serious." Francis knelt down in front of him. "It is not healthy to be so lonely."

Arthur looked up and studied Francis. The man did have a point. He hadn't exactly been with anyone since his career started, and that was such a long time ago that Arthur couldn't even recall the relationship too well. All he knew was that it didn't end too well, much like the few he had before that. Maybe his failed attempts at truly being connected to someone finally made him give up on love all together. It wasn't as if any type of love worked out for him anyways. Familial, romantic, heck even friendship love didn't favour him for some reason. The closest thing he had to a bond was with the Frog standing in front of him, and even that was only out of the common interest of work, not in each other. There was even a time where he was convinced that he was somehow cursed to never finding fulfillment. Everyone who was close just seemed to disappear after a while. Perhaps that was why he lost his muse. And why he understood Alfred's pain so easily. And Francis' too since he personally witnessed the pain he went through after his fiancée Joan died years ago. Even to this day, Arthur sometimes would catch Francis' pained expression when editing his romance novels that told the blond writer that he was far from being over Joan's death. And it was also why despite their mutual hate towards one another, Arthur couldn't help but feel compassion towards the man sometimes, and even regret from writing a romance themed book.

"Stop saying weird things, Frog." he sighed into his hand. "I'm not lonely. In fact, I prefer the quietness so I can concentrate on my writing."

Lies.

"Uh huh." replied Francis, obviously not believing a single word the younger man was saying. Shit, even Arthur wasn't believing the crap he was spewing from his own mouth.

"Whatever. All I'm saying is don't let your personal life affect your work. You know that your career is not the only one at stake here." Francis scoffed.

"Right, right." he nodded not wanting to argue any further with the other man. Arthur lifted the jacket that was covering him and handed it to the French editor. "Here, take your filth back."

"Uh, hello. That is not mine." he shook his head and laughed.

"It better not be something from the lost and found." he examined the coat and looked at it with disgust.

"Non." he laughed again.

"Bloody hell." he hated it when the Frenchman decided to play these games with him. They were quite irritating actually not matter how much pity Arthur felt for Francis at times. "Then who?" he demanded.

"Ta petite amie." Francis simply responded and stood up. "I have to get going now. Call me if anything comes up." he reached for his own blue jacket tucked away behind the desk in the middle of the room. No wonder why Arthur didn't see it. "I have other plans, and unlike you I do not want to miss them. Adieu." he waved off Arthur and left him sitting there with a particular person's jacket. Correction, a particular blond's jacket; a particular blond who wasn't Francis nor himself.

Now that he thought of it, Alfred was wearing something that looked like this earlier if he remembered correctly. He just didn't pay attention, that's all. Arthur stood up and folded the jacket up carefully, noting that the younger blond must have went home without anything warm if he left this here with Arthur. Now that he thought about it, his own brother didn't even let him borrow his cell phone when his own was broken, let alone have anyone sacrifice their own warmth for the likes of him.

Arthur held the jacket close to his chest tightly. That's right, no one has done anything like this for him before and he couldn't help but smile to himself at the simple kind act. The American boy probably did this often because of his caring nature in general, but it was more than a mere act of kindness for Arthur. For once in his life, someone showed that they _cared_ about him. It may not have meant much to the younger blond, but for Arthur it was yet another thing he couldn't bring himself to describe with his words. And yet, it was also an inspiring moment that left the author flowing with words that he just needed to write right away as soon as he got home.

Arthur smiled again and looked at the jacket.

"Looks like I'll be seeing you again after all."

**XXX**

Alfred rubbed his arms for warmth as he entered his house from the cold weather. After nudging close the apartment building's door, he puffed a breath of hot air into his palms, rubbing away his near frost bitten fingers. He jogged up to his room and opened the old apartment door. He didn't know going outside with only a hoodie would be that bad. But it was for a good cause, so he didn't care. He smiled to himself. And plus, a certain somebody will _have_ to see him again in order to return the jacket, so it was a fair trade.

"I'm home." he called out into the empty room and closed the door.

Alfred threw his bag on the nearby couch and stared into the lonely space sadly. "I'm home..." he sighed.

Yeah, home.

It's funny how home to Alfred, was loneliness and isolation, while those terms meant a complete wreck of a life to most people on this planet. Unless one enjoyed the idea of loneliness. But then again, he didn't exactly know anyone like that. Even good ol' Kiku who enjoyed down time on his own condemns the idea of loneliness altogether. "No man is an island" was what the Japanese man always told Alfred whenever the blond was down. It was Kiku's own way of telling Alfred that he _will_ be happy again and _will_ find someone eventually. Basically, everyone doesn't have the right to be miserably alone for their whole lives and that the love of your life could be somewhere out there. But the younger man always denied Kiku and told him how ridiculous he was sounding and then laughed it all off as some romanticization that only existed in the human imagination. As happy as the young photographer appeared to most people, he was the last person on Earth to idealize love. "Love," that dreaded word that never fails to give his heart strings a good tug whenever mentioned; that word that will always remain a word that can only be expressed through actions because it was merely an abstract idea; that word that was not tangible and doesn't have physical properties that can allow Alfred physical proof that it actually exists rather than relying on the words of others to determine whether it is real or not. Because after all, one can lie about loving you. The fact that it's an abstract idea makes it untrustworthy in Alfred' perspective.

Perhaps that's why the boy enjoyed capturing physical beauty so much. When something's beautiful, you know it's beautiful. It doesn't lie to you, it doesn't pretend that it's not beautiful, and it most certainly doesn't make you feel unsure of its existence. It just shows off what's there; truly and in all its glory. That is...

until that beauty fades.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

1. St. James park is an actual place in England. Goggle it to see how it looks like.


	4. Why Me?

Chapter 4

Why Me?

"Hi!"

Arthur stared at the man standing in front of his front door with a smile brighter than a thousand goddamned suns; a smile that could make you squint if you did not have proper sunglasses.

"What are you doing here? " Arthur asked as he stared out his doorway trying to comprehend why the blond was there in the first place; there at five-thirty in the morning to be exact. He was lucky Arthur just so happened to be pulling an all-nighter and wasn't already on his desk passed out from exhaustion. Otherwise, there would have been hell to pay. At least from Francis that is.

"I came to get my jacket!" Alfred laughed loudly. "Boy, you forget everything don't you?"

That's right. The blond had left his jacket with him the other day and he hadn't returned it yet. He had been meaning to returning it, but he just got so caught up with his writing that he had almost completely forgotten about it. So much that weeks had literally gone by without him even realizing that the younger blond was probably freezing his skin off every time he went outside. The thought made the author frown as he examined the lightly clothed Alfred standing there slightly shivering while smiling that goofy smile. And if he looked carefully, he could see the younger blond's teeth clattering.

"Fine, fine. Come in." Arthur stepped aside and nodded. "I don't want to be responsible if you catch a cold."

"Thanks, Pops." Alfred smiled and shook off the snow on his body like a dog as he made his way in, wetting Arthur and causing a scoff from the man.

"And be careful." Arthur warned.

"Of what?"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose and closed the front door. "Nevermind. Just take your shoes off here." he pointed at the black rug in front of the door.

As soon as Alfred walked into the living room, he marveled at how tidy the author kept the room. Stereotypically, he thought Arthur's possessions would be all over the place because of his job and because of the unorganized nature of authors in general. "Wow, I'm surprised you're this tidy." he snickered, resulting in a grumble from Arthur.

The Briton felt slightly insulted since all his life he had been praised for his cleanliness. "And why is that?" he yanked the scarf off of Alfred's neck harshly, causing the other boy to yelp in surprise.

"It's just...I thought all writers were messy people."

"Well, you're wrong." he folded the long scarf up and placed it neatly on the couch. Alfred rolled his eyes while thinking how ridiculous it was to fold up a scarf so neatly when it was going to be messed up again anyways.

"Well, sorry. What are you doing up so early anyways?" Alfred yawned and sat down on a fancy couch adjacent to the fireplace and in front of the coffee table, which was bigger and much more fancier than the one in Alfred's apartment.

"I have been working on my novel." he made his way over to the spot his laptop was seated on the beige sectional sofa and lifted it up so he could take a seat there himself. He raised an eyebrow at Alfred. "You can sit over here you know. You don't have to be so far away."

Alfred smiled widely and practically pounced on the spot next to Arthur. "A famous author asking me to sit next to him? Wow, today is a good day." he laughed. He laid down and propped his chin on his palms.

Arthur simply snorted and resumed typing, until he noticed a nosy blond trying to peer around the screen.

"What do you think you're doing?" he moved the device away from Alfred while covering the screen with his free hand.

"Can't I look? You know I can't wait until the next one comes out!" he whined as he tried to lean closer to Arthur's laptop.

"You are being rather rude!"

"Lemme see!"

"I said no!"

"Please? I won't spoil it for anyone!"

Arthur growled at the blond that was practically leaning his whole body weight on him and logged off from his laptop, making the screen returning to the bluish-green Vista login splash page asking for a password. He knew locking his laptop with a password would be useful someday.

"NO!" Alfred wailed.

The writer smirked and closed his laptop. "I'd rather not get any work done over having someone read my stuff before it officially comes out." he spoke triumphantly. He patted the top of his laptop to emphasize that there was no way in hell he would show the younger blond his ideas.

Alfred pouted and moved off the older man. "I just wanted to know what it was about. I don't see what the big deal is. You know how much I love your writing." he crossed his arms in almost a childish manner.

Arthur chuckled at the compliment, even if it did have an angry undertone to it. "Sorry lad. I can't let anyone read it. Not even my..." he swallowed and blushed slightly. "...number one fan." he ran a hand through his hair with embarrassment.

Alfred's face lit up almost immediately. "You really think I'm your number one fan?" he smiled and pointed at himself. "Me? Alfred F. Jones?"

"Yes, yes. Now will you stop bothering me?" the author cleared his throat, hoping that the compliment would distract Alfred enough for him to leave him alone. But that was only partly true. The author really did believe that Alfred was his number one fan since he had never met anyone quite like him before. He was almost a fictional depiction of a typical fan who would fawn over their favourite actor or artist who had come to life. Needless to say, it was funny to watch for Arthur so he didn't complain. He just laughed at the younger one's childish nature. "Besides, if I spoilt it for you now, then you probably wouldn't be as excited when it actually does come out."

"Alright." he laughed bashfully. "If you put it that way then how can I resist."

"Good that you understand."

"But..." Alfred began. "I would still be excited even if I was spoiled. I told you I was a big fan didn't I?"

Arthur blinked and tried to compose himself so he wouldn't end up looking like a smiling schoolboy who was excited over a girl he fancied or whatever little schoolboys were excited over these days. "I...I suppose. Thank you." he rubbed his nose awkwardly and smiled.

Alfred just simply grinned and Arthur could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat. Maybe he really wasn't used to these compliments after all. Being cooped up in a big house alone for so many years made him more susceptible to compliments no matter how simple they were. In other words, it didn't take too much to make the author happy since he was never cherished for anything that he did when he was a child to begin with anyways.

Arthur nodded and placed his laptop aside. He would have to work on it when the youth left unless he wanted another session of the heavier Alfred towering over him and practically squishing him in the process. "Alfred, why _exactly_ are you here so early anyways? You know you could come by at a later time if it's too early for you. Do you really need your jacket that bad?" he looked at the boy sternly as he tried to change the subject. "A lack of sleep isn't good for your health." he lectured, getting a like-you-should-talk look from Alfred.

"Because I couldn't sleep!"

Arthur raised his eyebrow. "Oh. And why is that?"

Alfred chuckled and pulled his bag up from the floor. "Because I was super excited to show you something." he opened his bag and rummaged through it, sparking some curiosity from the older man.

"You know how all of your novel covers are nature themed right?"

"Yes..." Arthur raised an eyebrow. He was somewhat understanding what Alfred was trying to get at, but he wasn't so sure just yet.

Alfred pulled out a box and placed it in front of Arthur. "I thought maybe I could do a cover for you!"

"You..."

"Yeah! Here, take a look!" he yanked the cover open with a bunch of developed photos piled one on top of another. "I went out a couple of days ago to take a picture for your cover but then I ended taking so many that I had to develop them all. I couldn't choose which would be the best for you!" he sat forward and blushed. "It was cold out too, so you better like them." he joked.

"Alfred, you...!" he picked them up and looked through them. "...my God, lad. This is incredible! You didn't have to go through all of that effort." he looked at him sadly as he imagined a lightly clothed Alfred out all day in the cold weather photographing something for his sake. Him, Arthur Kirkland, who had become a cynical bastard over the years after he had given up on all kindness in humanity according to his older brothers.

"It's alright! I had fun!"

Arthur smiled at him and looked through all the youth's beautiful works of art. He could sit there all day just looking at the photos over and over again and just let a wave of inspiration hit him until he was washed off the shore of reality; until that wave drowns him in a sea of fantasy where he can sleep for eternity without the harsh world bothering him; without the faults of reality welcoming him back into a world where those thoughts and ideas are merely fantasies resulted from a desperate desire to be rid of reality. Yes, he could just sit there day in and day out just listening to nothing but the sound of photographs flipping with his grandfather clock in the back just ticking away and reminding him that he was indeed passing time in a place he did not want to leave.

His fantasy place.

His smile grew wider as he continued looking through the giant pile. The boy was just a genius. He even managed to make a couple of footsteps in the snow look beautiful. Most people that he knew at best could photograph something and then run in through a photo editing program to make it look like there was good lighting or that there wasn't a flaw in something they photographed. But Alfred was genuine. He did not need all that technological hocus-pocus to make everything look beautiful. Instead, the youth managed to capture the natural beauty of whatever he pointed his camera at. It did not look fake like most photographs he had seen. And Arthur was a pro at spotting what was fake and not fake even if it was a million miles away. Again, another advantage that came with years of isolation.

He came to the last few photographs and was about the ask Alfred to leave the whole box with him so he could decide on which photograph to use, until he spotted the very last one that nearly made him choke on his own spit. No, scratch that. It almost made him choke on the very air he was breathing because it was so overwhelming that he could have screamed in embarrassment if it hadn't been such a sweet gesture of Alfred. However, Alfred hadn't noticed since he covered the picture up quickly with the other photos on top of it.

"So have you decided?" the younger blond grinned.

Arthur tried to contain himself from the photo he had just seen and smiled. "Not yet, lad! Do you mind if I kept the box for a while?"

Alfred blinked. "You're actually considering this? Sure you can!"

Arthur thanked Alfred and set the box down on the coffee table. He was relieved that it seemed like the younger blond didn't notice him looking at the last picture in the collection. If he did, he would have seen Arthur's sudden pause and most likely would have questioned him about his reaction.

"S-say, do you want any tea?" Arthur asked as he tried to cleared his mind of all thoughts of that blasted photo.

"Coffee please." Alfred reminded the Briton of their previous conversation from weeks ago about tea and coffee.

"Right, right. Coming up." Arthur left to make some. He hadn't made coffee in God knows how long, so he wasn't sure if he could still do it without destroying the whole kitchen.

**XXX**

"How's the coffee?"

Alfred did his best to not scrunch up his face too much at the overly bitter beverage so he just nodded and took a small sip. "It's...fine."

The Briton nodded at him suspiciously, sensing the younger man's possible dislike with the taste but chose to ignore it instead.

It was already eight o'clock in the morning. Exactly two and a half hours since Alfred had been at his house and for some reason, Arthur didn't want him to leave just yet. They were having too much fun chatting that the Briton didn't care if he had to have some work done at the time. Even if the "chatting" consisted of Alfred teasing Arthur and the author in turn bickering and telling Alfred off, it was the best company he had in a long time. All he wanted was to stay like that with Alfred for the whole day. Perhaps Francis was right after all, he really did need the company.

"So I was freezing my butt off, when my friend Kiku finally told me that I should call it a night. I think he was worried that I might catch a cold or something." he laughed. "You should meet the guy, you two are kinda similar. Well, only because you both act like old men." he snorted as Arthur shook his head disapprovingly at the comment.

"He does sound like a nice fellow." he scratched his chin. "And this is the same one you met online?" he asked recalling Alfred telling him about a certain friend online that helped him get a home in London.

"Yep! That's him!"

Arthur smiled at the fact that there was someone other than himself that the youth knew in a big place like London. At least that way, he wouldn't have to be alone in such a giant city with no one and nowhere to call home. He knew that feeling all too well and he wouldn't wish that same kind of suffering upon any one else. It was simply just too scary of a thought.

"Well now, why don't you bring him along the next time I have a book signing. I mean if you don't decide to kidnap me to a park again." he smirked.

"No problem!" he laughed and out of habit took a sip out of his warm coffee which caused a grimace as a result.

Arthur ran his hand through his locks and sighed tiredly. He had been absolutely tired the whole week. The fact that he finally had some time to relax was nice for a change. Especially because it was with someone who understood his perspective on literature. Maybe he was giving the boy too much credit because of his bias towards photography, but still, Alfred wasn't like anyone he had ever met; a point that he had told himself over and over again. He liked how at their first meeting, the younger man didn't treat him like some sort of superior entity just because of his well known status in the public. Sure, he praised him for his work and asked for an autograph, but Arthur was treated more like a friend the entire time. No hierarchy involved, no subordination, and most definitely none of the whole "I'm better than you or I'm lesser than you" crap. He felt comfortable enough around Alfred that he could easily call him a friend; something that was hard to come by for Arthur nowadays.

"Don't you get lonely in this big ol'house?" Alfred suddenly asked, breaking the momentary silence between them.

Arthur looked up from his tea and sighed. Who wouldn't ask him that? A twenty-three year old living in such a big place while most people his age either lived with a friend or lover and partied it up every night as the Americans would say. Not cooped up in a big place alone living like an old man. He glanced around the giant place that was way too big to be occupied by a single man. Five bedrooms, three floors with the exception of the basement, three bathrooms, a backyard big enough to look like a mini park, a big kitchen on each floor that he was terrified of using whenever he had to cook, and so on. Definitely way too big for a single person. But he was so used to living in a big place since he was little that a small apartment just wouldn't feel right. Luckily the amount he was making as an author was more than enough to help pay it off.

"I suppose." he sipped his tea. "I mean how can anybody _not_ be lonely from living alone for seven years?" he chuckled. "Especially in this place."

"You got me there." Alfred sighed with depression. "I also know that feeling all too well."

Arthur nodded after realizing what Alfred was referring to and chose not to question the youth further about his past. He was always the type that preferred it when people chose to open up to him rather than pry into people's lives when they were not ready to let anyone in. After all, that is the type of person he was, so he knew firsthand how that felt.

"Anyways, Alfred. I'll go make us some breakfast. So just sit tight." Arthur grabbed his cup and headed for the kitchen. The conversation they were having was getting a bit too depressing and most likely too personal as well. Alfred's expression practically screamed for a change of subject, even if he was the one who brought it up in the first place.

"Oh, you need help?"

"That's alright. I'm pretty good at cooking." he smiled back at Alfred and disappeared into the kitchen. According to his experience, food was the most appropriate thing to overcome depression. At least temporarily.

Alfred smiled but for some reason felt a sudden bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that he usually got after eating something bad. But he decided to ignore it when the doorbell went off.

"Yo, Artie. Should I get that?" Alfred called out to him as he started making his way to the doorway.

"Yes, that's probably Francis." he called back. "Might s well let that frog faced bastard in." he added as he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Just answer the door please."

Alfred shrugged and jogged over to the door. He unlocked it, expecting the long haired man with the stubble from the bookstore, but what was staring back at him made Alfred blink a few times questionably and almost laugh out loud at the hilarious sight before him.

"Why hello there!"

Alfred was taken back by the cheerful voice addressing him that it took him a while to actually react properly.

"Oh, uh...hi!" he kept staring. Out of all the weird things he had seen in his lifetime none of them had topped the little boy smiling back at him that very moment. He looked around thirteen and Alfred couldn't help but wonder why a little boy would be at Arthur's door. He _was_ wearing a sailor outfit, so maybe he was like those girl scouts back in America who went door-to-door selling cookies or asking for donations. But it was way too early for that, so maybe he got lost on his way to school and needed directions? Or maybe he was someone Arthur knew? That had to be it! He had those same bushy eyebrows as the author's and almost looked like a miniature version of him. Only not...more like a miniature version of both Alfred and Arthur combined since he had the same blue eyes as the photographer. Not to mention, his hair resembled Alfred's smooth locks more instead of Arthur's bedhair. Actually, now that he thought about it, he looked liked their lovechild.

Alfred blushed at the thought. _"Get your head out of the gutter you idiot."_ he smacked himself on the cheek, startling the boy in front of him.

"Good day isn't it?" the little boy beamed as he glanced in the house. "Is my big brother around?"

Of course! How could he not have thought that maybe he was his brother? He can be so dense sometimes."Yeah! Come on in! He's just in the kitchen!" Alfred beckoned him in as if it was his own house. The thought of him owning a place that big made him giddy just from imagining it.

"Oh, great!" he exclaimed and as soon as he walked in, he dropped all of his belongings and ran straight to the kitchen while calling out his brother's name loudly.

"ARTHUR! ARTHUR! ARTHUR!"

Arthur poked his head out of the kitchen. "Peter?" he put down everything and jogged out into the living room.

Alfred walked back into the living room with a smile, expecting a warm reunion between the brothers that he had longed for with his own. He was expecting little Peter to run over to Arthur and the man in return scooping him up and twirling him around like in those movies. However, Arthur grabbed the hair on top of the little boy's head and yanked it hard instead of running over to embrace him the way Alfred expected. If the photographer did not cover his mouth with his hand, he would have screamed a loud "Oh my God!" at Arthur.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he shouted harshly while his younger brother complained and yelled in pain. "You have school, you dolt!"

Alfred was dumbstruck.

"I snuck out the house to come see you!" he whined. "Let go!"

Arthur sighed and released his hair. "You know father forbade you from ever coming to see me. Why do you keep doing this?"

"That stung, you bully. And not only was that unnecessary, it was quite rude!" he retorted as he rubbed the top of his head to sooth the pain. "And father can mind his own business."

Arthur crouched down to his level and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Peter...you know how much trouble you get in whenever father finds you sneaking off here. Do you want to get hit again?"

'_Hit?'_ Alfred thought with terror. What kind of family did they have? Alfred kept thinking that maybe Arthur was hit too when he lived with them, so that was why he moved out.

"But I don't like being there. I'm never allowed to do anything." he pouted sadly, protesting the older man's effort to make him go home.

Arthur glanced at Alfred and the other blond just smiled nervously in return, trying not to seem too fazed at the hitting and whatnot mentioned.

"That's no reason to skip school. You'll be in a lot of trouble." he stated firmly while keeping his stern gaze on his younger brother.

"Then let me stay! They'll definitely find out I skipped if you kick me out now!" he begged, obviously using school as an excuse to pester Arthur.

"Jesus..." Arthur mumbled as he rested the front of his head on his palm. "The answer is no, Peter."

Alfred stepped over to Peter and padded the saddened boy's head. "Aw, come on, Artie. How often does he get to stay here with you anyways?" he smiled at Peter who in turn looked up at Alfred with teary eyes.

"Ugh. Stay out of this, Alfred." he warned the taller blond. Arthur always had a pet peeve about people meddling in his personal life, especially if they didn't know what exactly went on with him and his family. But the taller blond just grumbled and pressed on.

"Well, the last time I checked, wanting to spend time with someone you care about isn't a bad thing." Alfred smiled at Peter, earning a sigh of defeat from Arthur. "Am I right, buddy?" he asked Peter and the younger boy nodded up at him.

Arthur placed his hand on his face and grumbled something about how bloody troublesome the two blonds in front of him were. "You know what? I'm too tired to argue." he waved his hand tiredly. "Peter, make sure to not let father know you were here. Alright?" he cautioned.

Peter beamed and practically jumped when he heard the good news. "Of course! Oh thank you!"

"Right, right." Arthur nodded towards them and placed his hands on his hips. "In exchange, I expect you be on your best behaviour alright? Alfred," he turned to the taller blond standing next to Peter. "could you keep him company while I make breakfast?"

Alfred goofily saluted and shouted a "yes sir" that made Peter giggle. Arthur merely shook his head and commented on how similar the two boys' personalities were and headed back in the kitchen. It has been a while since Peter had someone to keep him company so he didn't mind Alfred staying with him for a bit. He knew all too well that even though his younger brother lived with his older siblings, they would never give him the time of the day he needed. Besides, Peter seemed to have taken a liking to Alfred at first sight and that was very rare for the boy. Usually Peter would withdraw himself completely at the sight of a stranger, but for some reason he was fine with Alfred and that made Arthur inwardly smile. Partly because Alfred was able to take Peter off his hands for a while since the boy can be quite a handful when riled up, but mostly because he hadn't seen Peter smile very much in the rare instances that the boy snuck over to his place after he had left home. It was a nice change for once.

"Wow, who woulda thought someone like Arthur would be related to someone as bubbly as you!" he joked and gave Peter a noogie, resulting in the younger boy laughing loudly and begging Alfred to stop.

"Are you my brother's friend?" Peter asked earnestly.

"Well, we just met..." Alfred thought to himself as he scratched his chin. "...but I sure hope so! Your brother is really amazing." he flashed the younger boy another bright smile.

Peter hopped up on the couch behind him and went through his backpack. He pulled out a giant sketch book and opened it. "He really is. I wish I saw him more though." he hugged his book close to him, almost protecting it with everything he had.

Alfred took the seat next to him and looked at his book. "Oh yeah? You don't see each other too much?"

Peter frowned and Alfred was about to take back his question, but then he started to talk. "Father doesn't let me see him...so I have to sneak over."

The comment made something in Alfred's past bubble up in his throat that practically forced the young photographer to continue prodding for answers. If there was something troubling the kid, he wanted to be there to listen to him no matter what since he knew firsthand how it felt to not have a single soul there for him when he needed a shoulder to cry on. "Yeah, I did hear Arthur say something about not letting your pops know that you're over today."

Peter nodded. "Yes. He hits me whenever he finds out, so that's why brother was so upset."

That made Alfred shake his head in disgust. Who the hell hits a little kid, especially their own kid, who just wanted to see his own brother? Well, their father apparently and it made Alfred want to run over there himself and rearrange their so-called father's face. That is, if one can even call someone like that a father. His own parents were just as bad, but it didn't mean he didn't know what made a good parent and what made a shitty parent. He learned all of that crap in something called family studies in school and also through observing his friends' families. He glanced at Peter again and made a mental note to have a little talk with Arthur later.

"Peter, why does your father not let you see Arthur? Did he do something?" he knew he was treading on dangerous territory but he needed to know if he was going to somehow help them.

Peter shuffled in his seat and looked at Alfred uncomfortably. "I'm...I'm not supposed to talk about it. I'm sorry." he smiled sadly.

The taller blond merely nodded and retreated. It was alright. According to what he learned in family studies, one shouldn't force a child to speak about something they don't feel comfortable with anyways; even someone like Alfred who didn't pay attention for the majority of the class during the semester understood that.

"The only thing I can tell you is it was because of a friend my brother had." Alfred nodded again and questioned no further.

"It's okay." he patted Peter's head and reassured the child with comfort. So, a friend? A friend that was a bad influence on Arthur? It seemed ridiculous that the author's father would want nothing to do with his own son because of a friend he had. But that was something he would have to leave for later when he had a serious talk with Arthur. If he could not help, at least he would lend an ear to listen.

"So what's in the book?" Alfred changed the subject.

Peter held up the large sketch pad proudly. "It's my sketchbook!" he flipped open the book and showed Alfred what looked like panels of comics scribbled in the pages. If Alfred had to say so himself, the drawings were pretty good for Peter's age, and it seemed like the younger boy already understood paneling and story sequences judging by the way everything was organized in the book. Everything from the drawings to the words in the speech bubbles made the older blond look on with joy as he was hit with a wave of nostalgia reminding him of the comics he used to read as a kid. Alfred grinned to himself as he imagined Peter as the next Marvel comics artist from England. With Peter's present skills and his eventual development, it was highly possible that he could very well make it big time when he was older. Who knows, maybe he could be as famous as his brother.

"I want to be just like big brother!" he cheered and brought Alfred out of his focus on the little one's art.

"You do?"

Peter grinned and nodded excitedly. "I want to tell stories too! Except I want to tell stories through cool pictures about heroes saving everybody! You know, saving helpless people from evil!"

Alfred nearly fell off the couch from excitement at the mention about heroes. Since he was little, he had always dreamt of being a super hero who could save the day and help those in need. He had always imagined himself as the next Spider-man or Batman who could be the guardian angel watching over his beloved city like in the comics. But how could he do that when he couldn't even be there for his brother anymore? For fuck sakes, he couldn't even stand up to his parents let alone evil. But for some reason he felt that he couldn't hate even the most evil villain that existed in comics more than his parents. So perhaps they are the ultimate bad guys of all bad guys that even the most powerful heroes could not defeat. He could always dream about someday being able to have the guts to go home and give his brother that photo he was meant to have and tell him that he didn't mean to abandon him before wishing him a happy birthday. But that was only a dream; a dream that was distinct from reality.

"Wow, Peter. That's..." all he could do was smile. Peter was really like an embodiment of both Alfred and Arthur. Not just in the looks department, but an embodiment of both men's passions as well. Arthur told stories through beautiful words that can practically paint a vivid picture in your mind, Alfred used pictures to tell stories that words cannot describe, and Peter told stories with both beautiful pictures and words. It was remarkable how it wasn't until now that Alfred actually realized the combination of pictures and words that created the beloved comics he treasured when he was a kid; the way both elements combined to express what the other could not.

"My big brother was the reason I want to do this in the first place." Peter flipped to the next few pages to show Alfred. "He made me love story telling. I hope I can be just like him." he sighed warmly.

"Does he know this?" Alfred asked with curiosity. He could just imagine Arthur's embarrassed face after being told how much one admires him.

"Of course he does! I always tell him." Peter played with the bow on the front of his sailor uniform. "But he always tells me to go for something else..." he said sadly.

"I see..." Alfred looked at him sadly.

"Do you think he doesn't see me worthy?" Peter gripped the book and asked with a shaky voice as though he was ready to cry at any moment.

Alfred went quiet for a moment but then he shook his head. There was no way that that was the reason. "Nah, I doubt that." he smiled. "I have a feeling your big bro's just looking out for you. That's all."

Peter's eyes widened. "You think so?"

"Yeah definitely!" Alfred agreed. Even though him and Arthur had just met, he didn't think the older man would be the type who would look down on his little brother or anyone for that matter. He could tell even before meeting him that through his writing, he came off as a very protective individual. Cynical? Yes. Sarcastic? Definitely. But a douche bag? No. He was more of the type that cared but didn't like to show it because he wanted to save face. "I think he just wanted to protect you from your dad. I mean, you did say he wasn't exactly best buds with your old man, right?"

"That's right!"

"And I'm assuming, since your dad doesn't like Arthur too much, he wouldn't want you to be like him, right?"

"Yes, that does make sense!"

"Well, there you go." Alfred grinned triumphantly.

Peter hugged him. "Thank you!"

"No problem, buddy!" he ruffled his hair and hugged him back.

The younger boy hummed happily into Alfred's sweater. "By the way, what do you think of my brother?" the younger boy looked up while still hugging Alfred.

Alfred was taken back by the question as he stared at Peter, wondering why he suddenly asked him such a thing. He racked his head for some answers but it took him longer than he intended. It wasn't because Arthur was such a detestable guy that it was hard to come up with something likeable about the old grump. But it was because there was just too many good things Alfred could say about him that he had a hard time picking and choosing the right words to say.

"Well, let me see..." he finally spoke so Peter wouldn't think Alfred didn't fancy his brother as much as he thought. He finally gave up and just used one word to sum up everything he liked about him. "Well, he's totally awesome!" he laughed.

Peter blinked a couple of times before he gave Alfred a strange look of confusion. "I suppose that's a nice way to describe him."

"Well, there was just too many things I wanted to say and I didn't want to make you sit here for the whole day listening to me. I could go on and on about him if I wanted." he chuckled good naturedly as he patted down the hair on Peter's head that he messed up previously. The younger boy looked up at him again and Alfred knew there was more on the child's mind that he wanted to ask Alfred.

"Alfred?" he tugged on the older man's shirt.

"Hm?" Alfred nodded, gesturing him to continue with his question.

"You won't ever leave my brother will you?" he mumbled sadly.

Alfred shook his head with confusion. Just what kind of question was that? Of course he wouldn't leave Arthur. He was a friend to him and he would never just up and leave a friend when they haven't done anything bad to him. Shit, even if they had done something bad and depending on just how bad it was, he would forgive them. It was like that time he forgave Kiku for sending him a website with a virus and not telling him before hand that there was a risk in downloading the files for their mmorpg. The more he stared at Peter, the more he wondered if Arthur was some kind of deviant that everyone avoided. Not that Alfred would cared if he was one anyways. The question itself was just a little odd coming from someone as young as Peter.

"Of course I won't. Why do you ask?" he asked as gently as possible to hide the concern in his voice.

Peter sat up and tugged on the bow of his uniform again. A quirk that Alfred concluded as something that boy did whenever he was uncomfortable. "It's just...ever since father forced him to leave, he's been alone."

Oh, so that's what it was about.

"And the last friend he had left him because of that...it troubles me to see him like this. He just doesn't look as happy as he used to be." he started to wipe away some tears forming in his eyes. "And father and mother treat him like garbage." he sniffled.

Alfred placed his long arms around Peter and held him the same way he used to hold his own brother whenever he came home crying about being bullied at school or about teachers giving him trouble throughout the day. He brought him close to his chest and let the boy dry his eyes on his sweater. "You have my word. I'll never leave Arthur. He's very important to me. So don't worry, okay?" Peter looked up and Alfred wiped the remaining tears from his eyes with his sleeve and smiled.

I just hope you don't meet father and mother. Because..." he hiccupped. "because then they'll make you go away too."

Alfred almost cried himself. He was never good around people crying, so he had to do his best to not let himself break down in front of the boy. He remembered that one time he ended up crying when he was trying to console a little girl whose dog ran away and was found dead by the road side. It obviously didn't end well for the both of them since Alfred and the little girl both cried in each other's arms until people came to take her dog away. When he got home, he felt like utter shit for not being able to comfort the girl. But this time, he needed to be strong to comfort Peter. Not also cry and have Arthur comforting them both if he walked in on them. He tightened his grip around Peter. "I promise I will never leave him. No matter what, Peter. And you too. I won't ever leave you." he pulled the boy up to face up and looked at him seriously.

Peter nodded "Thank you." he blinked away the remaining tears.

Alfred's expression remained warm and they sat in an embrace for a little while longer. Peter's breathing eventually calmed down and Alfred was further away from his breaking point. It was just sad. Though he felt less alone because there were people in the world that he could relate to, he also wished that he was the only one feeling the feelings that both him and Peter suffered from because he simply did not want anyone else to undergo the same emptiness as he did. It was the worse feeling in the world and condemning someone to that faith was worse than a death sentence.

"Now how about you show me more of your comic! Maybe I can give you some ideas!" Alfred reached for the sketch that was placed aside and handed it to Peter who enthusiastically sat back down next to Alfred and continued telling him about his current comic idea. If he continued any longer in their crying mess, he would have no doubt broken down in front of Peter.

"Okay, so this guy is named Super Larry and he is the super King of London. But one day he was bitten by a radioactive ladybird that gave him super bug-like powers!" he pointed to a transformation sequence of his character undergoing bodily changes from the bug bite. He went from a normal human to someone that resembled a ladybug much to Alfred's

"Whoa! Does he know Spiderman?" Alfred asked excitedly.

"They're best friends!"

"Ohmigawd!"

As the two laughed they were oblivious to a certain author standing on the other side of the kitchen door hearing everything as clear as day. He ended up finishing breakfast early, but when he went to open the door to call out to the other two to join him in the kitchen, Peter's conversation sparked interest in the author. Needless to say, Arthur heard everything from their talk about how much Peter admired his big brother to how Spider-man and Super Larry were best friends. To say that the author felt something but didn't show it was an understatement because he had been standing there the whole time trying to contain his sniffles and tears that made his eyes more swollen than pollen during allergy season. He had just hoped that Alfred didn't hear the "idiot" that was mumbled by him after hearing about how the young photographer would always be with him.

**XXX**

The day went by before Arthur even knew it as he glanced at the grandfather clock that chimed when the hands hit nine o'clock in the evening. The author yawned from the fatigue that result from his days of lack of sleep. Once again, he hadn't gotten any work done for today. But he didn't really mind since it wasn't exactly a bad day. Francis popped up for an hour during the afternoon but that was about it, and it wasn't even that bad either. Overall, the three of them had a great time just sitting around and doing nothing besides talk and listen to Peter about his super hero story which Arthur found quite fascinating. Only when Peter finally nodded off, Arthur knew that it was probably time to turn in for the evening.

"Looks like the little bugger has taken a liking to you." he smiled as he tucked Peter in his bed for the night. He knew that his father would definitely find out about his whereabouts because he had been gone for so long. Thus, he definitely wasn't going to send Peter home alone at night only to be welcomed by their father's hand.

Alfred smiled at the sleeping boy. "Well, what can I say? I have a thing with kids." he grinned but then his face turned solemn when he remembered something dreadful. "Won't your parents find out where he is?" he asked.

Arthur sighed and headed out the room with Alfred following behind him. "Most likely. But I'll take him back tomorrow morning. If I take the heat for this they might go easy on him." he replied sadly.

Alfred was about to protest, but then he nodded, not wanting to argue any further. Both were tired and it wasn't his place to meddle in other people's family affairs at the moment. Maybe he'll bring it up the next time he saw Arthur, but right now just didn't seem like the right time. So the blond closed the door behind him and descended down the stairs.

"Say, would you like to stay over?" Arthur broke the silence by speaking up. Alfred stammered in return as he was caught off guard by something so unexpected. The younger blond scratched his head and laughed.

"S-sure. Why not?"

Arthur gave a small smile and looked out the window in his living room. "It's completely dark out and plus it's snowing quite a lot. You might as well stay." he turned back around and faced Alfred who sighed in relief upon hearing the actual reason. "You can have the guest room when you are tired. You know where that is?" he asked

Alfred nodded and pictured the big room they walked by when putting Peter to sleep. It didn't take a genius to figure out that that was the guest room with the lack of decoration and only a bed and dresser in the room. It _was_ what most house guest rooms looked like except a lot bigger than the ones that he was used to seeing. Alfred yawned and decided that maybe he should turn in early as well. It wasn't like him to go to bed so damn early but playing with Peter and just relaxing with Arthur turned out to be anything but relaxing; but in a good way though.

"Thanks, Artie. I'm gonna sleep now. You guys sure tired me out." he laughed.

"Right..." he smiled. "Have a good night now, Alfred."

"Ditto."

Arthur watched as Alfred disappeared up the stairs for the night and stretched his cramped up back from sitting around all day. He thought about going to sleep as well but he had to make up for the time lost and work on his novel before Francis had another freak out again. Really now, showing up abruptly in the afternoon just to complain about being on time with the novel's rough draft was more than inappropriate; especially since Peter was there. And it was even more inappropriate when the French man decided to teach the little boy about the "birds and the bees" that the latter already knew about much to Arthur's horror. But other than that, it wasn't too bad. Arthur and Peter's relationship may not be the same as it once was when they were both still living happily together and they may not share the same closeness as before, but the author still felt a bit of happiness when he saw him. That is, as long as he didn't let his hurt override those happy feelings the way they usually did.

Arthur glanced at Alfred's backpack on the floor and picked it up to place it near the coat hanger in the hall. He also found it strange that today with Peter was especially better with Alfred around. Perhaps it was the young photographer's cheerful personality that added to the tiny bit of happiness he felt when seeing Peter. But whatever it was, it made the day a lot easier to bear without his inner turmoil making him forget what little he had left with Peter. So maybe Alfred wasn't just a spark of inspiration for Arthur, maybe he was the light that he needed in his life. Even though they had just met, whenever Alfred was around, his path of darkness became brighter lit, allowing Arthur to steady himself rather than wander aimlessly in no particular direction; wandering aimlessly back into the past that kept pulling him from the future. Perhaps that was why as time passed, Arthur didn't want Alfred to leave at all; perhaps that was also why Arthur subconsciously kept Alfred's jacket knowing full well that the blond would come looking for it eventually when he could have easily returned it himself. He did not want to go looking for that light himself. He wanted Alfred to come to him; he wanted his light to come to him and guide him home.

The older man double checked that both Alfred and Peter were in their respective rooms and headed back towards the box of photographs on the coffee table. He opened the blue lid and dug under the photos and pulled out the one he was looking for. Smiling, the author glanced back up the stairs to make sure Alfred wasn't actually standing there spying on him. The last thing he needed was to be seen fawning over the particular photo that had caught him off guard when he first laid eyes on it earlier in the morning.

"You said you liked to preserve beautiful things," began Arthur, almost as if he was addressing the photograph itself. "then why me? Why would you choose to preserve me out of all things?" he asked as he glided his fingers across the smooth surface of the photo containing his sleeping face from the park weeks ago.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	5. Amant

A/N: I'd like to say thank you for the kind comments on this story. It has encouraged me to continue on.

I would like to say that when reading Francis' dialogue, read it in a French accent because that was the way I intended for him to speak. And the same with Kiku and his Japanese accent. The Hetalia dub was what I first watched so their English voices are kinda stuck in my head when I wrote for them.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

Amant

_She ran after him and cried out his name, begging him not to leave her. But despite her efforts, her beloved ran out of her house and into the pouring rain to his lover's arms. No matter what she said and no matter what she did, he made it obvious that they would never be together and that they were from different worlds; worlds so different that they can never hope to collide in the way they did romance shows and novels. No, reality is much worse. In reality all one can do is sit back and watch loved ones drift away or suddenly leave without early notice that can make one question whether is love worth sacrificing for? Is love worth sacrificing for when one day it'll just get up leave you with an empty black hole in place of your heart? A hole so big that it becomes a huge void that requires more than just getting your heart back; a void that needs perhaps a second heart to help heal one's broken spirit; a second heart that another is willing to share with you; a second heart from someone willing to share their love with you._

BANG BANG BANG!

The author's eyebrows twitched as he was stirred in his uncomfortable sleep on his wooden desk in the study located next to the living room. He had taken refuge there after Alfred and Peter went to bed since he decided that that would be a better place to concentrate than the living room, which could have served as an easy distraction; something that Arthur couldn't afford since he already had so much to catch up on in his novel.

He shrugged off the previous sound as a manifestation of his dream and tried to go back to sleep but the loud banging continued and echoed louder each time. At first, the Briton thought it was his headache literally pounding inside his head, but when he realized the noise was real, he sat up and listened carefully. Was it his neighbour fixing the fence in his backyard again? Arthur rubbed his eyes and gave another yawn before the banging commenced. This time, he was more awake and realized that the banging was coming from his front door since the vibrations going through the door were indeed very real. The confused man got up and headed for the front door as quick as he could, not wanting the noise to wake Alfred and Peter who were probably still asleep in their rooms. He stumbled a few times from his drowsiness and even almost slipped on the black rug in the front hall before reaching the door. Arthur had no idea what was waiting on the other side of the door besides Francis again or maybe one of those people that wanted to convert him to some religion he had never heard of. Those were the only people he could imagine at his door at such an early hour.

Another yawn left Arthur as he unlatched the door and yanked it open, ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind. That is, until he saw who it was. All he could do was blink and sputter as he tried to compose himself while at the same time tried to mentally register the situation at hand.

"Where is Peter?" the man in front of Arthur demanded without hesitation in a calm and yet somehow menacing voice.

"H-he's..." the author stumbled as he refused to meet eyes with the threat in front of him; the threat that continued to haunt him as long as he was reminded of their biological connection through the Kirkland family name.

Albert Kirkland pushed pass his son and into his house to look for the missing child. "I said where is he?" his tone much more menacing than initially as the taller man with a paler blond Caesar cut stalked around the house. "Well?" he gestured with his hand out, demanding an immediately answer.

Arthur bit back on his lower lip kept his gaze on the floor. He could practically feel himself shaking with the way his vision kept darting back and forth from one place on the floor to another. He never found the hall rug all that interesting until now since it was the only thing that he could find himself focusing on at the moment in order to avoid his father's piercing grey eyes. Even though he wasn't looking directly at the man, he knew that he was being stared down as an attempt to break his silence. But he had to stay strong for Peter; he had to protect him no matter what. Despite the blood connection between him and the man in front of him, he still saw him as the enemy; a threat. So his first instinct was to protect Peter at all costs. He would do anything to keep the younger boy out of harm's way and he didn't care what his father had to say to him as long as he left Peter alone. The author took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. From what he learnt through years of running away from his family was that he needed to be calm and level-headed when dealing with them. Otherwise, he ran the risk of a repeat of a certain incident that changed his outlook on the world altogether.

"I picked him up from school and had him stay here." he replied simply and nodded. "It wasn't him who had asked to come here. I just wanted to spend time with him." he lied, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

Albert glared at Arthur and did not hesitate to grab his son by the collar and yank him forward, causing the younger man to hiss in pain from the fabric scrapping harshly against his neck. Arthur could have easily over powered his father with the older man turning sixty next year, but he just couldn't find it in his heart to physically hurt him because afterall, the man was his own flesh and blood. And no matter how much Arthur hated him, he just couldn't bring himself to do anything to retaliate even if he was at the receiving end of his father's violence when he was younger. Their obvious difference in status and power also played a role in Arthur's reluctance to fight back. Any harm inflicted on his father on his behalf could easily land him a harsh sentence to jail.

"What did I tell you about staying away from him?" he stared deeply into Arthur's eyes. "WHAT DID I SAY?" he shouted and Arthur flinched.

Arthur trembled internally, but did not look away from the man. The only thing that mattered to him at the moment was to protect Peter at all cost; even if it killed him. Arthur clenched his fists on his side and held back the tears that were fighting their way to the surface; the tears that were always brought to life because of the unfortunate familial ties he had with these people in his life.

"Fuck off..." Arthur muttered, recalling that although he couldn't physically retaliate, he was not afraid to mouth off when he was pushed over the edge.

"Would you repeat that, lad?" his father asked with a false kindness that belittled Arthur's courage even though he knew full well what came out of the writer's mouth.

The younger man grit his teeth. "I said fuck off!" he raised his voice, reminding himself of the hurt that him and Peter had to endure when all they wanted was to see each other, which made his already existing anger course through his body and bubble to the surface when it couldn't be held back any longer.

Arthur grunted loudly as he was smashed against the nearby wall with full force. The wall rattled and he slid down in pain after he was let go. A few ornaments that were on the wall fell and smacked Arthur's shoulders before landing on the ground. If Alfred and Peter didn't hear the loud pounding on the door earlier then they must have heard that. Even the neighbours must have heard that loud smashing noise of both body weight and ceramics being painfully collided against one another. The tears Arthur held back began flowing down his cheeks as the pain scorched through his body and burned his muscles. Now that he thought about it, the pain was nostalgic. Not a good kind of nostalgia, but a horrible memory of years of punishment by his parents when he was younger; the punishment that out casted him from his own home just because he wasn't what they had expected him to be; the punishment that never ceased to remind him that he was hated for simply being a certain way that he couldn't help; the punishment that told him that he should feel sorry for being born the way he was and that he should feel apologetic for simply showing he was capable of loving another but just in a different way than what mainstream society considered "normal."

Arthur coughed while trying to calm himself to steady his breathing. But he found it difficult since both his physical pain and emotions were fighting to overcome and consume his very existence in order to render him even weaker than his current state. He cradled his head in his hand and whimpered loudly while his face became soaked with tears. He didn't know if it was his overwhelming emotions that blocked everything out or if it was his strong need to protect Peter, but all he felt was strong arms encircling him and pulling him into a firm hold. They felt different from his father's, so that ruled out any possibility of the older man coming around and comforting Arthur. He blinked a few times but finally looked up to find a blond young man holding him protectively and staring down his father.

Alfred looked down at Arthur and rubbed his tear-stained cheeks. "Arthur, are you alright?"

All the author could do was shake his head and allowed more tears to run down his cheeks as he buried his wet face in Alfred's light blue t-shirt. He actually felt rather embarrassed for soaking the fabric beneath him with his endless tears. Not only that, but Arthur even found himself clinging on Alfred without any sign of wanting to let him go. _"Pathetic."_ he thought to himself; a twenty-three year old man still terrified of his father and still very much unforgiving towards the older man for having the people most precious to him stolen away because of his social status.

Pathetic.

"Arthur?" Alfred questioned once again with concern filling his voice.

Silence.

Alfred glared at the stranger in front of them. Who did this man think he was? Barging in Arthur's house and not only acting like he was the king of everything, but also having the guts to hurt Arthur as well. Alfred was about to hurl every insult he could think of that were angrily fighting to get out until he noticed the resemblance between the author and the man in front of them. It was then he realized that that man was indeed Arthur and Peter's father. There was no mistaken it. They both had too many physical resemblances that it would be crazy to even deny them in the first place. The last thing he wanted was to cause more trouble for Arthur and Peter.

He swallowed hard.

"And who are you?" Albert raised an eyebrow and examined Alfred. He looked the young photographer up and down, making it obvious that Alfred was being judged heavily in the eyes of the older man. Alfred swallowed hard again and kept his glare. The thought of being judged at face value irked him to no end.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones." he replied sternly and tightened his hold on Arthur.

"Alfred..." he man repeated. "Like King Alfred, correct?" he crossed his arms over his chest and stepped forward to look closer at Alfred. "But that was not what I meant. Who are you to this person here?" he pointed at Arthur. The failure to even acknowledge Arthur as his own son made Alfred's stomach churn. It almost reminded him of the same feeling he felt when his gift to his own brother was ripped up right in front of him. All Alfred could do was hold onto Arthur tighter since the photographer knew the feeling that Arthur must have been feeling all too well.

"I'm his friend. You have a problem with that?" he kept his voice calm even though he was still shaking violently with anger. He just thought how strange it was for the old man in front of him to give off so much power. Even physically the man looked strong for his age. But most of all, was the way he held himself up in the presence of Alfred that made him terrifying. It was no wonder Arthur couldn't find himself to fight back.

Albert scoffed at the two in front of him in disgust. "You really never change do you, Arthur?" he walked pass the two younger men and stopped in front of the stairs that lead to the second floor. "Now, is Peter up there?"

A flash of yesterday's conversation with Peter hit Alfred and sparked the memory of the boy telling him about the physical punishment by his father whenever he came to Arthur's house. The only objective going through Alfred's head was to protect the younger boy and to get him away from the violence from his parents as quick as he could. "Stop! Leave him be! H-he's...!" Alfred yelled but couldn't find a way to get his words out without possibly hurting Arthur in the process as well.

"He's what?" the man demanded.

"Please Arthur and Peter did nothing wrong. Just let Peter stay." Alfred breathed out as his heart raced. For some reason it felt exactly the same as when he confronted his parents. That same menacing and suffocating aura that diminished his existence and rendered him insignificant in every aspect; that aura that screamed how much he was unwanted and that if he were to die right there and then, there wouldn't be much of a difference to them. He was pretty sure Arthur felt the same.

"Lad, do you know who the hell I am?" he walked in front of Alfred and pointed at himself for emphasis.

Alfred grit his teeth as his anger just couldn't be contained anymore and was breaking its way to the surface. While he felt the need to protect both Peter and Arthur, the real conflict was trying not to also get them in deeper trouble than they already were. It was a fight that Alfred knew would be a big struggle because it seemed either way there would be a loss with the win. He knew that if he succeeded in protecting them today, how would he know that Peter would be safe the next time he was in his father's presence? The very thought disgusted him.

"I don't give a fuck who you are!"

Albert stepped forward. "Why you-!"

"FATHER! STOP!"

Everything paused. It was so eerily silent that the birds chirping outside were heard distinctly and if a pin actually dropped outside, then it too would be heard. Even the sound of leaves rustling in the wind were heard with so much detail that Alfred never thought possible. The photographer looked to the top of the stairs and found Peter with his face drenched in tears, hiccupping and sitting on his knees, practically begging everyone to stop. Alfred's heart tightened in his chest from just imagining that that was the state Peter was in everyday living with his family.

"It's not their fault! I came here, so leave Alfred and big brother alone!" he continued bawling. It absolutely broke Alfred's heart to see a young boy his age going through something that wasn't meant for children. He should be playing happily like yesterday, not go through hell.

Albert stomped up the stairs angrily in a huff. He grabbed Peter by his arm and pulled him forward, making the boy follow him downstairs. Alfred was about to protest but was stopped when Peter shook his head tearfully at him. The look begged Alfred to no get involved and the American had no choice but to comply if he wanted things to settle peacefully for the time being. It was a shame that in the end, it was Peter who ended up protecting both Arthur and Alfred by sacrificing himself. The thought made the photographer bite down on his own lip so hard that he that the metallic taste of blood ran through his mouth. Yet again, he proved to be a failure in protecting those he cared about.

"I'll send for Peter's things later. I don't want him staying here any longer only to be corrupted by this poor excuse of a son of mine." he glared at Alfred, refusing to look at his own son.

Alfred didn't answer but only stared at the man in utter disgust.

"Let's go Peter."Albert pulled him out of the house and left without saying anymore. The door shut and the two men were left silently in the lonely hall just like that. The same eerie silence from earlier filled the room once again but this time was accompanied by the small breaths Arthur was taking.

Alfred sighed and glanced at Arthur who was still hunch over in front of the wall. The man's breathing was faster than usual as he tried to breathe small shaky breaths to calm himself. Alfred sadly watched Arthur's failing efforts that made him worse rather than calmer. The photographer's heart sank at the sight before him when he placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders.

"It's okay. Just breathe." Alfred coaxed him as gently as possible while he helped him up.

"Thank you, Alfred." he mumbled with eyes as red as the slippers he was wearing. Everything happened so quickly and just like that, it was over.

Both were quiet for a long time with Arthur becoming calmer as time passed and Alfred keeping his arm around the author to comfort him in case the older man went into another panic attack. It was quite uncomfortable to say the least. Never before has Alfred witnessed family drama outside his own the way he did today. And never has he even imagined seeing the face of a terrified boy of no older than thirteen and a grown man reduced to the way he was back when he had his blow out with his own parents back in America.

"Hey, it's okay. Parents...who the hell needs them." Alfred sighed and rubbed Arthur's back gently.

Arthur nodded and wiped his eyes. "Thanks."

A thought occurred to Alfred. "Arthur! I think I have an idea. Why don't you get Peter to live with you?"

Arthur blinked at Alfred. "Al..." he sighed, sounding too tired to deal with anything anymore.

"Yeah! I mean you can fight for custody for him can't you? Just tell them about his mistreatment and you can get legal rights for him. I can even help you and-."

"Alfred." Arthur interrupted in a voice of total defeat.

Alfred stopped talking and looked at Arthur with confusion. Surely the author wasn't protesting the idea was he? Didn't he care for Peter's wellbeing?

"Alfred..." Arthur sighed again and rubbed his temples. "I've tried. I've been trying since I stopped living with them. Countless times. Do you honestly think that that wasn't the first idea that occurred to me when I was able to live on my own?"

"You mean..."

"Yes, Alfred. I tried. Over and over again. I've even taken legal actions against them and have had no luck. You honestly don't know the amount of time and money I have invested into this." he grumbled as he smacked the wall behind him with his fist, making Alfred jump. But the pain from his fist's impact with the wall wasn't even felt because of the numbness leftover from his emotional turmoil.

"Then why...?"

"Because of his goddamned status, that's why." he sighed with frustration and took a seat on the bottom stair in the hall they were in. He rested his head on his hands that were propped up by his knee. "He works for the British monarchy. I'm sure you've heard of an Albert Kirkland?"

"What a minute. _The_ Albert Kirkland is your father?" Alfred was astonished. He knew that they had the same last name, but he only assumed that that was a common last name in England like Jones or Kennedy in America. But for Arthur to be related to someone like that was shocking. Especially because he had never seen or heard of the famous author Arthur Kirkland being his son from the media. But he could guess why that was probably hidden from public.

"Jesus Christ..." Arthur got up from his spot and started to head to the livingroom.

"Arthur..."

"I need to rest. You can leave whenever you want."

"But-."

"Please Alfred," he turned around and gave a weak smile. "I need some time to myself." By time to himself, he meant sulking in a long depression that would a lot of effort to snap himself out of. This was also one of the reasons why he dreaded his father finding Peter whenever he decided to sneak over to Arthur's house. Whenever he comes in contact with his family, his emotional state goes out of control and his work suffers dramatically. Not only that, but Peter would always get a harsh punishment whenever caught as well. Arthur sighed to himself. It looked like it was going to be another day of worrying about Peter's safety and not getting much work done.

Alfred bit back and nodded, understanding the man's feelings all too well. "I need to go out for some photo shoots anyways. I'll see you some time then." he lied sadly at the author's back. There were no photo shoots scheduled for him that day since he had already finished off a week's worth of orders the two days before. But he needed a believable excuse to leave Arthur alone. It wasn't as if Alfred wanted to leave the older man all on his own anyways, but clearly the author wanted time alone and Alfred didn't want him to feel bad about kicking him out. It pained the younger man even more that Arthur couldn't even turn around to meet eyes with him after what happened. He could only imagine the pain on Arthur's face at the moment.

"Right." Arthur replied and walked away. Alfred heard a door shut in the distance and decided that that concluded the time they had together until the next time they met. And God knows when that would be with the way things were at the moment.

Alfred headed back upstairs to clean himself up for the day. He was actually going to take Arthur and Peter who for a nice breakfast at a nearby cafe that he loved, but obviously that plan went down the toilet the moment that geezer arrived. For once he felt like he was in a happy environment filled with laughter and joy with people he could call his new family, but yet again, it was ripped from him. Even worse, it was not only ripped from him but from Arthur as well, which was double the devestation.

The young man glanced down from the stair railing and blinked away the few tears that he was holding back when he was trying to stay strong for Arthur. "No matter how many times you push me away, I'll always be with you." he gripped the wooden railing and dug his short nails into the vinyl coating. "I promised Peter." he started up the stairs but stopped again.

"Also... you're my friend afterall."

**XXX**

"It's been almost three weeks."

"Hm..." the Japanese man took a drink out of his cup of green tea and placed himself in serene thought as always whenever he tried to help out his friend. "That is quite a long time Alfred-san."

"Yeah, no kidding. " the American propped his elbow on the kotatsu in Kiku's small livingroom. Despite living in a western country, Kiku had always said he wanted to feel at home. So he had made sure to bring every single thing down to the pens he used back in Japan, even though he was frequently questioned curiously about the different appearance of his housing arrangement by his Western friends. But unlike Alfred's livingroom that was filled with photographs on his walls and in his drawers, Kiku's apartment was filled with computers connected to one laptop to another or with textbooks on video game development piled all over his workstation. Needless to say, the mmorpg that he and Alfred met on was one of the famous games that he had part in as the head designer. Alfred had always thought it was funny that the man enjoyed playing his own game as much as an ordinary fan. But then again, if it was his own creation, then it wasn't surprising that it contained everything that the Japanese man dreamt of in a video game.

"Perhaps you should just give it more time." Kiku smiled. "Clearly he needs time to think for himself. He is not angry with you. I am at least sure of that judging by what you have told me."

Alfred slouched on the table, thanking God that Kiku had the decency to move everything out of the way before he came. "Yeah, I guess." he mumbled into the cool surface. Clutching his hair, Alfred couldn't help but think that if Arthur wasn't partially blaming him for that morning gone wrong than why wouldn't he answer his calls or even open the door whenever he came around? It just didn't make sense. At least not on a common sense level. And it hurt even more that the author gave off the vibe that he didn't want to see Alfred at all.

"Ugh..." the blond scratched his head harshly, earning a sigh of frustration from Kiku.

"As I said Alfred-san, do not worry." he replied as his small dog Pochi-kun jumped on the kotatsu and licked the hand that was resting on Alfred's head, earning a giggle from the photographer.

"Yeah, even Pochi here seems to say so." he petted the dog back and laughed as Pochi licked his hand more. The dog felt soft under his hand and gave him the same comfort that he felt when he was spending time with Peter. He scratched under the dog's ear and earned a little bark from him.

Kiku smiled at the two in front of him. "Do not worry."

"Hopefully it's that easily. I think I can honestly say that I was gonna cry when he didn't answer my calls or visits for the millionth time. It just...sucked." Alfred gave another weak sigh. Pochi whined sadly at the blond's saddened state and tried to comfort by rubbing it's head against Alfred's hand. "I know I haven't known him for a long time at all, but...I still felt really sad."

"I see..."

Alfred nodded and got up from his spot with his knees popping in the process. Groaning, he stretched out the kinks in his muscles.

"Leaving already?"

"Yeah. I'm going to the bookstore." he said as he reached down and pocketed the cell phone that he had out when he arrived at Kiku's place as an attempt to wait for Arthur to call him back. For some reason, he also thought that if he called Arthur from a different place he would pick up even though it would have been the same number flashing on the author's caller I.D. It didn't make sense to Alfred either, but it was worth a shot even if Kiku insisted that just because he called from a place of different religion, it didn't mean that Arthur would magically pick up.

"Why?"

"If I run into Arthur there, he'll _have_ to talk to me. It's not like he can run away or anything. Well, unless he wants to look like a lunatic in public." he chuckled.

"Alfred..." Kiku sighed.

"I know, I know! I should leave him alone! But I can't help it! I'm worried..." That was partly the reason. The bigger reason was that Alfred wanted to see Arthur more than anything. He wanted to run up to the man and just ramble on and on about his day down to the most mundane detail and have Arthur do the same while forgetting all about their worries. Although the author normally didn't speak as much as Alfred anyways, anything Arthur had to say was more than enough to satisfy Alfred; even if all that was uttered was a mere "idiot" remark by the older man. Still, lately Alfred had been wondering if his desire to see Arthur was really just a "want" or an actual "need" to see him. Maybe that was why the younger blond had been so on edge for the past weeks. Perhaps Kiku even knew more than what he was letting on but just chose to stay silent and play along because of his "refraining from speaking" type of nature. That, or the Japanese man just found it funny to fuck with Alfred's mind. Either way the photographer didn't care as long as he got to see the Briton anyways.

"If you do see him. Please do not act impulsively." Kiku warned.

"Whatever." Alfred waved him off. "You and Artie are such old men. Like seriously, I think you two wouldn't have a hard time getting along." he replied as he imagined Kiku and Arthur getting together for tea and chatting about whatever old men chatted about.

Kiku sat silently petting Pochi, looking as calm as always. "We shall see." he stood up to see Alfred out with Pochi following right behind him and barking small cheerful barks.

"Hey, maybe you should come with me!"

"That is not possible." he shook his head.

"Eh? And why not?"

Kiku pointed at the two laptops hooked up to the larger desktop on the computer desk adjacent to the kotatsu. "I have to work on new plug-ins for the game." he said as Pochi jumped onto the desk littered with wires and hard drives. "It might take a while."

"Oh right." Alfred suddenly remembered Kiku having to rush home right after the movie they saw together at the theatres a few weeks ago because of some new download he wanted to make available to players. But the blond had simply thought that he would have been done by now. "Then I'll bring you back one of those mangas you wanted." he suggested with a grin. The Japanese man lit up and bowed his head as he tried to hide his blush from extreme gratitude.

"I-I thank you. You really do not have to go through the trouble!" he stuttered.

Alfred grinned him a bright smile and left his house for the bookstore. He had no idea if Arthur would even be there since there wasn't a designated place where all authors go about their day like office workers. It was mainly just random bookstores depending on where the book signings were scheduled. Besides, Alfred hadn't heard any news about any kind of book signing by Arthur Kirkland lately so he doubted the older man would even be there. He just wanted to try his luck, that was all. It was better than doing nothing anyways.

As Alfred jogged out of the apartment building, he shivered as the winter breeze suddenly hit him when he opened the heavy doors. As expected according to the weather forecast, it was snowing heavily today. It wasn't windy like the past few days though, but was just snowing heavy pieces of snow that broke into tinier flakes upon impact. In a way, it made it look peaceful outside and just the right mood for the upcoming Christmas holiday, but it was still hell when going from a warm cozy environment and out into the weather. It was just funny how a little bit of heavy wind would make the whole scenery outside look like a dreadful storm about to take place; a complete opposite of the current scene. Alfred smirked at how one little thing can turn a meaning into something completely different. It was one of those things in life that made him laugh bitterly.

"Maybe the old grump would have enjoyed this weather." he mumbled to himself and into his scarf as he shivered again. "He seems like that type of guy."

Alfred looked up at the snowing sky and continued walking. He thought for a second that because of the way Arthur's face was twisted in so much pain weeks ago, he could have sworn that even the sky was crying for him. In was a bit strange, ever since Alfred had been here, it had rained quite a lot in the summer and snowed often in the winter. It was as if the weather in England was connected to Arthur's emotional state just because the author lived in this very place; it was eerily how it gave off the impression that the weather would follow Arthur wherever he went and reflected the way he felt through rain or shine. In other words, that melancholic look that the older man always had on even in his biography photos seem to be connected to the type of weather that most people back in America associated with England. It was a weird idea, but it made sense...at least to Alfred.

"I'm guessing you're not too happy today either..."

The blond stuck the lower half of his face out from his scarf and scrunch up his face at the cold. As a snowflake fell on the tip of his nose, he stuck his tongue out to try and catch one. "Stop reminding me how much pain Arthur is in. That's mean." he pouted at the flakes that were missing his tongue. He must have looked crazy to the few people walking by him with the whole talking to snowflakes and all. That is, if they even paid any attention to him rather than concentrating on getting to a warmer place. That was one of the things that made London the same as where he was from; everyone would go about their own business without a care in the world. Whether it was to work or play, people would rush and rush without any regard for others. Even though he was relieved at the moment that no one really cared enough for him to notice his crazy talk with the snowflakes, it seemed a bit cold; too cold for humanity to be so focused on earning that pay check to buy the latest gadget or rushing around without stopping for a second to realize what was actually around them. Maybe that was also why Arthur and him were not exactly the happiest people in the world. The people who were suppose to give them the love and care they needed proved to be too focused on status and materialism that they forgot about what was most important and brushed them as a result. That had to be it, otherwise he couldn't think of another reason for such sad treatment. It was times like those that made Alfred question how could such an aesthetically beautiful world be such a cruel place to live. But then again, he couldn't exactly say that him and Arthur weren't guilty of falling into the rush of life. It was almost impossible to survive in the modern world without conforming to the pace that everyone was used to.

Alfred covered the lower half of his face with his scarf as he approached the street where the bookstore was located. _"Maybe Arthur somehow would have the answer to that question."_ he thought sadly at the fact that it wasn't them who wanted to rush, it was the rest of the world _forcing_ the rush on them. He could even recall back to Arthur being late for the book signing weeks ago. That surely wasn't the author's fault, but the fault of the publishing company forcing their schedule on him and tiring him out as a result.

"Oh? Bonjour."

Alfred looked up from the snow covered pavement and met eyes with a familiar Frenchman with long blond hair. He blinked and smiled. "Oh hey! I remember you. Francis was it?" he asked as he recalled back to the man who took Arthur off his hands the same day he was late for the book signing. Except this time the man didn't look as annoyed with Alfred as he did last time.

"Ah, so Arthur's _amant _does have a good memory." he smiled as he walked up to Alfred and took a hold of his right hand and placed a kiss on it. "Good day to you."

Alfred pulled his hand out of the man grasp and wiped in on his pants awkwardly. He had to admit, letting another man kiss him was slightly weird."Y-yeah...uh hi. Good to see you again too." No doubt it was the same guy. He did do the same thing to him the first time they met after all. "Listen, um...have you seen Arthur lately?" he asked quickly changing the topic.

"Ah. I was about to ask the same thing." he rubbed his chin with his finger in deep thought. "Has he been answering your calls or have you not tried to contact him?"

"He hasn't answered me."

"_Mon dieu_. He has done the same to me." Francis sighed and patted Alfred on the shoulder which made the younger man flinch a bit. "He has not answered my calls either."

"Oh."

"Come on, mon ami. Let us get some coffee. It is too cold for two attractive young men to be freezing their little butts off in this weather." he swung his arm around Alfred and pulled him the opposite direction.

"But I want to check if Arthur's in the bookstore." he protested and tried to struggle out of Francis' hold.

"Ah. You mean the one from the book signing that you ruined? Trust me, he is not there. That guy never goes out if there is no book signing or interview, so it's pointless in going."

Alfred didn't say anything and mumbled an unenthusiastic "great" under his breath.

"Now, let us go _warm up_." he winked and Alfred shivered at the subtle innuendo behind that comment. He would have easily pulled out of his grasp and ran for it, but if this Francis guy has really known Arthur for a long time then maybe he could find out a few things about the Briton.

Alfred felt himself being dragged faster and faster by the Frenchman. "H-hey! What does '_amant'_ mean anyways?" he asked only to be met with a chuckle by the Frenchman.

**XXX**

Alfred sighed contently as he felt warmth from the big cup of hot chocolate run through his body. It made him relax as the cold left him with nothing but a blissful warmth that brought colour back to his cheeks. Even though the cold bothered him, he loved the feeling of sipping on something hot right after he had come from the cold. The opposite worked for him as well.

"Feel better?" Francis asked while running his index finger along the rim of his cup of coffee. The motion made Alfred shudder for some reason.

"I guess." the younger man shrugged. Physically, yes, he felt better as he was no longer cold. But emotionally and mentally, no, because he was still worried as hell about Arthur and Peter's wellbeing. For all he knew, the Briton could have drowned himself in a shit ton of alcohol by now and no one would have noticed with the way he shut himself from the world like that. And Peter too...who knows what sort of punishment he met with when he went home.

As Francis started to ramble on about some girl he met the day before Arthur was supposed to do the book signing, Alfred remembered the reason why he agreed to go along with Francis to the cafe in the first place. He wasn't there to socialize or gossip about who or what the Frenchman found sexy since he had more important things on his mind that he needed to sort out. But even if it was any other time, he didn't think Francis would be someone he would spend alone time with anyways. The older man game off a weird vibe that sent a creepy chill down Alfred's spine.

"Hey. I need to ask you something." Alfred interrupted him as he placed down his hot chocolate. The vibration from the cup caught Francis' attention.

"Oh, are all you Americans that rude?" he complained as he placed down his mug of coffee as well and ordered them both some cake when a waitress passed by that second. "Now what is so important that you must interrupt my romantic escapade story?"

Alfred shuddered again, not wanting to know what the hell the story further entailed. "I..." he paused and stopped talking. He didn't want to give away too much information regarding what happened in Arthur's house three weeks ago. Afterall, he had made it a promise to himself that it was between him and Arthur only since it was logically not anyone else's business besides them and Peter's. Not even Kiku knew every detail of the incident when Alfred went to him about it earlier this morning. He had only provided Kiku a vague description of what happened so a general idea of them only having a normal spat between friends was implied. But knowing Kiku, he probably knew that there was more going on anyways. But he didn't mind since he didn't out right tell his friend the entire situation. Having Kiku piece it together himself was good enough and that was one characteristic that Alfred always admired about the Japanese man.

"Can you tell me a thing or two about Arthur?" Alfred continued as he kept his eyes on the Frenchman in front of him who was too busy staring at the waitress that came by earlier. Alfred's eyebrow twitched a bit in annoyance while he watched the Frenchman practically undress the unsuspecting waitress with his eyes. The photographer was about to repeat the question when he came to the conclusion that Francis was probably too busy gawking at the waitress to be listening to him, but the Frenchman spoke up.

"What would you like to know, _mon cher_?" he asked finally. The younger blond fumbled around and looked around the cafe as if he was hoping to find his answer there but with no luck. The fact that Francis had finally paid attention to him _after_ the waitress walked off didn't make him feel any better.

"Um..." That's right. What did he want to know anyways? There was so many things he wanted to ask but he didn't know where to start. Arthur Kirkland really was a mystery and he knew that even if he had the courage to go up and blatantly ask Arthur what he wanted to know, he probably still wouldn't get a straight answer. There were just too many secrets.

"Francis! What the heck are you doing here?" came a cheerful voice that made Alfred look up to only be met with a taller tan-skinned brunette standing between him and Francis.

"Ah! Antonio! I didn't know you were in today!" Francis laughed as he immediately stood up from his spot. The brown haired man grinned widely and the two gave each other a tight hug like long time friends. Alfred awkwardly turned back to his drink to avoid looking like a third-wheel being left out of an intimate moment shared by the two friends.

"Alfred!" Francis called out and turned around with his arm still swung around Antonio's shoulders. The other man nodded a bright smiled towards Alfred as a hello. "I'll start with him okay?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow to ask what in the world Francis was talking about, but Antonio stepped forward and took both of Alfred's hands in his enthusiastically and shook. "Nice to meet you, amigo! My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo! But you can just call me Antonio!" the Spanish-accented man leaned in, a bit too close to Alfred's personal space, which made the blond inch away a bit. But the man was still nice enough not to creep Alfred out the way Francis did.

"Nice to meet you." Alfred grinned. "I'm..."

"Yeah, yeah. Alfred, no?" Antonio pulled Alfred into the same big hug he gave Francis and patted his back hard. The younger blond only assumed that that was the way Spanish people greeted each other and went along with it and patted back in return. Immediately, he felt stupid for wanting to introduce himself when Francis had clearly called out his name in Antonio's presence. It was one of those things that made him feel socially awkward even if they didn't happen too often. He was just so caught off guard with how forward both men were. That, and also with the many thoughts running around in his mind at the moment. When Antonio pulled Alfred away, the younger blond couldn't help but think that Antonio looked like someone who had stepped out of the movie screen. The man looked flawless and he could tell that it was all natural beauty without the help of any heavy makeup that they used in Hollywood for some people. Smooth skin, a perfectly proportioned nose, big eyes, a tan that any girl would want, and a smile that could make anyone swoon was what made up Antonio's face. Except he noticed a short deep scar on the left side of his chin that even he knew all the make up in the world couldn't cover up. It looked as if there had been some sort of terrible injury that had mostly healed up but not completely because of how deep the cut was. The young photographer also notice that it was many shades darker than the rest of the Spaniard's skin which made it an obvious standout from everything else. But it did add a certain charm to Antonio. Alfred thought that maybe perhaps the Spaniard would like to have a photoshoot with him someday.

As if knowing exactly what Alfred was staring at, Antonio back away bashfully and rubbed the location of his scar with his hand as he pretended to scratch an itch. "A-ah, so have you two been served yet?" he laughed nervously as Alfred directed his attention elsewhere after feeling like he placed Antonio on the spot. He looked back up apologetically, but by the time he did, Antonio had already directed his attention elsewhere; probably a possible escape route.

Francis pointed over to the blond waitress that came by earlier. "Ah, _oui_. That beauty over there knows what we are having." he winked over at the girl again.

Antonio glanced at Alfred again and smiled nervously. "You know what, I'll go make you two your cakes. The cook's a little tied up right now." he waved and hurried off to the back where Alfred assume was the kitchen.

Alfred smacked his hand on his forehead. Of course anyone would know that he was staring at that scar like some fascinating object of scientific study! Especially with the way he just kept at it without looking away even when the man was talking. Alfred felt like a jerk because if anything, he hated giving off the impression that he was judging someone based on their appearance when he in actuality just found it a charming quirk about Antonio. All he wanted to do was to run after Antonio and apologize, but judging by the man's reaction, that would have directed more attention on the scar and would probably produce even more embarrassment for him.

"You looked, didn't you?" Francis asked nonchalantly with a lazy smile.

"Yeah...sorry...I..."

"It's alright. You're not the first one." Francis chuckled as he glanced over at where Antonio disappeared to. "He's really self-conscious about it. He's probably going to try and hide from customers again. This is like the fifth time in the last two weeks."

"But why?" Alfred protested. "I didn't think it was anything bad. I thought it kinda made him look cool. I swear, that's why I looked it wasn't..."

"Alfred...you said you wanted to know a thing or two about Arthur, am I correct?" Francis interrupted and looked so serious that Alfred swallowed hard.

"Yeah..." Alfred kept his eyes glued to Francis, making sure to read every bit of his facial expression and body language carefully to fully understand what was going on and what the man had to say.

Francis sat back comfortably, preparing for a long story that Alfred didn't mind hearing if it was going to help him figure out what was going on with Arthur. "I trust that you won't berate Arthur like some people after hearing this..." he sighed and leaned back in closer to Alfred. He then nudged his head over to where Antonio went off to. "Antonio and Arthur used to be...how should I say it?" he thought to himself and rubbed his chin.

"Classmates?"

"Non."

"Friends?"

"Significant others."

"As in..."

"They were lovers."

"Oh."

Oh.

Alfred's eyes widened a bit and he quickly took his mug for a long drink to avoid eye contact with Francis. The whole scar staring was bad enough, he didn't want Francis to think he was homophobic as well. Intolerant assholes were what he hated and he didn't want to be grouped into the same category through a misunderstanding. Alfred slowly composed himself to absorb the information as he slowly swallowed the warm sweet liquid. So they were lovers? That was something unexpected, especially since he never heard anything about Arthur Kirkland being involved with another male from the media. Then again, it could have been back when he was much younger or that Arthur just chose to keep it a private matter. But for some reason, Alfred felt a slight tingeing sensation deep in his chest. He only assumed it was because he had thought Arthur had always been this lonely isolated soul like Alfred who had never had anyone he held precious before. In some way, Alfred was hoping that he was the first person Arthur ever had a connection with. And as selfish as that sounded, the American was hoping that he was Arthur's first and _only_ connection with anyone even if it was as just a friend. Since they both shared a common passion and the same pains in life, he had hoped that maybe he would be the one most important in Arthur's heart. Next to Peter, of course.

"_Jaloux_?"

"What...?"

"Nevermind..." Francis waved his hand to dismiss the question. "As I was saying, they were both lovers back in the day."

"I see." was all Alfred could reply. The shock that he had a lover, especially one that was male was still being processed in Alfred's brain. But it also bothered him that Arthur never once mentioned that to him. But that is to say, both Alfred and Arthur hadn't really known each other for a long time anyways so maybe he was getting a bit too ahead of himself. Arthur didn't seem like the type who would open up immediately anyways. Just because Alfred was that way, it didn't mean Arthur was as well.

"But unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Their parting wasn't exactly the most wonderful thing in the world." Francis continued on sadly. "But I guess all breakups are ugly in their own way no matter how they end." he added as though he had a similar experience of harsh love in the past.

"Can you please just tell me what exactly happened?" Alfred asked with a bit of irritancy in his voice. All Francis did was beat around the bush and Alfred was getting tired of hearing the man's hesitance to tell him everything about Arthur.

Francis sighed again, but this time he looked apologetic rather than his usual teasing self. Alfred didn't know whether he looked sorry for the fact that he was going to spill everything without Arthur's consent or that he was sorry that Alfred was going to learn something that he was better off not knowing. Either way, Alfred had a feeling he was going to find out anyways. Be it good or bad.

Francis then pointed to his own chin; the very same spot where Antonio had his scar. "You know that scar you saw?" he asked and Alfred nodded impatiently as a gesture for him to continue.

"Well, Antonio used to model for this famous fashion industry in Spain and..." Francis stopped in the middle of his sentence and examined Alfred for a while. The younger blond gestured for him to continue but the older man's frown showed that he wanted to do otherwise. He then stopped altogether and folded his hands together. "You know what, _mon cher_?" he smiled. "I'll let Arthur share his own story with you. He is an author afterall, and I don't think he wants another person telling his story. He gets mad enough whenever I suggest changes to his work." he gave Alfred's hand a reassuring squeeze and returned to his drink as if nothing had taken place. "Because God knows the hell that midget can raise."

At first Alfred was devastated that he didn't get to learn more about Arthur after all of that build-up, but then he understood that maybe this wasn't the best time to find out about his life story. Especially through another person, because if he were in Arthur's position he would raise more than just hell if the same thing was done to him.

"But in time. You will know." Francis smiled as if reading Alfred's mind. "If you really are a true friend of Arthur's then you will know in time. There is a time and a place for every story. And I don't think now is right time or the right place for you to know _Angleterre's_ story yet."

"_Angleterre?"_ Alfred repeated.

"_Oui_, because the old brute's moods are as bad as the weather in this sad country." he laughed and Alfred snickered at the fact that they both shared a common joke about Arthur. At least that put him at ease in front of Francis.

"Now if you come to France. That country is someplace worth staying." Francis raised his cup and gave a nod towards Alfred.

Alfred nodded back and before he could say anything to humour Francis, the waitress from earlier showed up with the cakes that they ordered.

"_Merci_." Francis blew her a kiss before handing Alfred his portion of the pastry. Alfred accepted it but made no attempt to eat the creampuff and cake he was given since what they talked about was still lingering in his mind. Francis noticed the youth's mood and rested his bigger hand on the American's again. The younger man jumped at the contact.

"So how did you and Monsieur Grouchy-Pants ever meet?" he smiled.

Alfred pulled his hand away and finally took a jab at the cake with his fork, noting how good the pastry looked. "That's actually a pretty funny story." he began with a small smile. "I was on the roof of that old abandoned school trying to take a picture, and then Arthur thought I was going to jump off or something. Then he literally grabbed me and pulled me back down." he chuckled at the memory of his bigger frame crushing Arthur underneath him. "He seriously thought I was going to kill myself or something." he snickered and Francis laughed as well.

"Oh my, that does sound like something Arthur would do. He always jumps the gun with anything." the Frenchman smiled and cut off a corner of his cake. The strawberry on top nearly rolled off the plates before Francis caught in again and placed it in his mouth.

Alfred nodded and kept his eyes glued to the table as he tried to avoid anything awkward involving him and Arthur. The last thing he wanted was for Francis to get the wrong idea about them, especially since they were only friends. He didn't want Francis to think he was looking to pry himself into Arthur's life in order to get in his pants when the author hasn't evidently gotten over the situation from weeks ago. Although he wouldn't be surprised if that was the kind of story Francis was hoping for with a perverted mind like his.

As Alfred rambled on about how he and Arthur had a pretty good time afterwards just getting to know each other and coincidentally both ended up having great passions in their lives, Francis stared at the energetic young man in front of him and kept a warm smile across his face as they both casually enjoyed their desserts.

"_You are lucky he found you, Arthur."_

* * *

><p>Amant: Lover in French<p> 


	6. You and I

Chapter 6

You and I

"Fuck..."

Arthur sat on the edge of the old abandoned school rooftop and gazed at the rising sun in the distance. Yet again, he hadn't slept for two days straight because of the constant anxiety that never ceased to remind him of how much he had on his plate. Not only that, but he hadn't gotten any work done for almost a month. No matter how long he sat at his work station, he just couldn't conjure up any inspiration for his story. Even worse, his deadline was in two days and he still had nothing. He already knew that if he showed up at Francis' office with nothing, he would have to prepare himself for another earful from the editor. But he would have taken annoying nagging over the quiet isolation of his house anyways. It never ceased to remind him of how alone he was and who he did not have left in his life anymore. Just when he thought he could finally have one day to forget his unfortunate circumstance, he was slapped by the hand of reality and was pulled away from his happiness again. That was a reason why he never bothered to let himself be happy in the first place or to get close to anyone for that matter; that was why he preferred to remained in "splendid isolation" over stepping out of his comfort zone. Fuck the garbage that Francis spewed about the author looking like a grumpy old man who didn't know what love was because he didn't have anyone in his life, Arthur had simply felt love and then lost it in all ways possible. That was all. Whenever hope shone through, darkness doubled itself and buried what little light he had left. It was a pattern Arthur started to notice, so he stopped trying to be happy after one let-down after another. In other words, he was used to it.

Arthur squinted at the little light the rising sun emitted. "Are you mocking me too?" he asked. "Just because I can't rise up in triumph like you doesn't mean that makes you better." he grumbled into the palm of his hand as he rested his chin into it, feeling both pathetic and crazy for talking to the sun of all things.

The snow seemed to have lightened in comparison to last night's storm as a gentle breeze swept across Arthur's nose, making a few flakes brush pass his face. Only small flakes were left fluttering through the wind in the quiet morning of that winter season much to the author's distain. He liked the snow but he hated the quiet that always seemed to accompany a winter morning. It was beautiful and yet _too_ quiet for Arthur's liking. His house was quiet enough as it was that it never failed to send him an eerie chill down his spine at night. So how can he expect to escape the silence when that was all that surrounded him wherever he went? Needless to say, even he knew that he needed some kind of "loudness" in his world of quiet; a loudness that disturbed him enough to tell him that he wasn't just ignored and forgotten about, but is the _reason_ for the loudness; the reason that someone decided to disrupt the quiet in order to acknowledge his existence to tell him that he was recognized for just being him. Arthur snorted to himself sarcastically.

As if that was possible. The only one that reminded him of "loud" was Alfred.

Alfred.

And it was at that moment that a little voice in his head screamed "Maybe he's the disturbance you need in your quiet pathetic life." in that all too cliché way only found in the stories that he was all too familiar with. It was just too bad that real life did not work like stories. If they did, he would have been solved of all his problems ages ago. That idea alone made him depressed to no end.

All he wanted right now was to see the young photographer.

Arthur felt his bottom beginning to go numb for sitting so long in the cold. He grumbled as he was starting to regret not wearing an extra pair of pants underneath his beige chinos. He usually did in the winter since he was just one of those people who became cold easily during the cooler seasons but he had completely forgotten about it in the morning. The other being his scarf. He hadn't bothered to move since his arrival and he could feel the snow covered surface starting to seep wetness into his pants. But he didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

"So how does it look?"

Arthur blinked as he was suddenly met with the screen of a camera showing the back of someone sitting on the ledge he was on and looking out into the sunrise. The surprise made him look back to find a grinning American holding his camera over the author's right shoulder.

"Alfred...!" Arthur said with surprise.

"The one and only." he chuckled and sat down next to him. "I finally found you. You know how long I've been trying to contact you?"

Arthur turned away. "No." he lied when he knew all too well how many times the American called and knocked on his door. He just couldn't find it in his heart to face the boy after what happened. In fact, the young man was just calling him the day before but he still couldn't pick up. He cursed himself many times about how he shouldn't be taking out of frustrations on Alfred when the phone stopped ringing. And it was then that Arthur wished Alfred would call back, but when he did, he couldn't pick it up again.

"Guess you got lucky today then." Arthur added with a shrug as he tried to hide any evidence of feeling glad that the American sought him out.

Alfred patted away some snowflakes on the sleeve of his own jacket. "No. I waited."

Arthur's face grew from shock to disbelief. "I can't believe you! Why would you do something like that? Do you have any idea how cold it is at this time?" he bellowed but Alfred just shook his head in protest.

"Relax, would ya?" he pointed to his heavy scarf and jacket. "I made sure to dress double what I normally wear. And besides," he held up a tray with two cups of warm coffee and handed one to Arthur. "coffee always keeps me warm." he smiled.

"Thank you." Arthur' face softened. Even though he didn't really like the taste of coffee too much, he accepted the beverage when it was handed to him and warmed his hands with it. He didn't even bother asking where Alfred was able to buy coffee at this time, he was just glad he was able to see the young man again. "How _did_ you even know I was going to be here anyways?" he asked. _That_ was a question that couldn't go unanswered.

Alfred blushed and fiddled with the camera hanging around his neck. "I didn't. You were never here whenever I came in the afternoon or at night, so I figured I should try the morning. That's all. I was kinda surprised to see you sitting here after my coffee trip. I was beginning to lose hope." he shrugged.

Arthur shook his head and immediately felt bad about putting the youth through such trouble because of his own melodrama. Had he knew that Alfred would go to such extremes he would have pretended he was fine with everything and acted normal in front of the boy; like answering his calls and visits for instance.

"Why would you even do that for me?" he asked angrily, but mostly angry at himself for putting someone else through more trouble than they asked for. "What if I hadn't showed up today?"

"It's your fault for ignoring me! I just wanted to see you!" Alfred shouted back, taking Arthur's angry tone the wrong way. The youth had thought that he had been nothing but an annoyance to Arthur, so he too felt angry at himself in return. It was too bad that both men took each other's anger the opposite of what it intended to be.

Despite the flattery behind the youth wanting to see him, Arthur couldn't help but feel a little insulted at the tone Alfred used with him. How dare he treat him as though it was his fault?

"Oh, excuse me! I didn't know I was THAT amazing to be around." Arthur answered sarcastically, not caring that the coffee was starting to burn his hands through the cup.

"Wow, do all old people treat their friends like this?" Alfred scoffed.

"Well now, if I am so awful then why do you insist on being around me?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE LONELY AND GRUMPY!"

"OH, AM I?"

"I DUNNO, ARE YOU?"

"WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME, YOU DAMN WANKER!"

Both men's voices echoed through the quiet as they both huffed angrily. After realizing this, they muttered something incoherent in defeat before turning away from each other. Not only did what they were arguing about not make a tiny bit of sense, but they were starting to sound like children arguing over the first thing that came to mind just to have something to shout about; just to get a reaction out of one another. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. He was just so tired and frustrated that he reacted to the first thing that came up just so he could relieve some anger. He did ease some tension, however it wasn't exactly in a way he had hoped for. Or maybe he just wanted to hear Alfred's loud voice and it had nothing to do with easing anger at all. Either way he didn't care anymore.

Both men stayed quiet for a minute before they both glanced at each other and started chuckling, obviously acknowledging at how embarrassing both must have sounded to one another. It was purely absurd for two grown men to be arguing like teenagers. Although Arthur had to admit, it was somewhat refreshing after being locked in his house for almost a month with only small trips to the grocery store and such. The snow continued to fall as both sat there in silence once again.

"My God..." Arthur laughed quietly.

"Yeah, I'm so glad no one heard us." Alfred agreed. "Did you hear the way your voice went up?" he laughed.

"I can't imagine what anyone would do if they did."

"But how do we know if they didn't?"

"If they did, then I'm blame you, you sodding arse."

Again both men sighed contently and continued to stare out in the horizon. The sun hadn't risen all that much since Alfred's arrival but what little was peeking out gave quite a beautiful view. It's thin rays of orange expanding out into the purplish-grey clouds gave off a picture one would see in paintings or portraits hung in those fancy livingrooms only seen on television; or in Arthur's livingroom since he was the prime example of having a fancy house. The Briton wouldn't mind having a portrait like in his study. Maybe it would even give him the inspiration he needed whenever he feel into one of his slumps. The scenery reminded Arthur of the picture Alfred showed him when he arrived; the same picture he didn't get too good of a look of.

"Hey, what was that you showed me earlier? I didn't get too good of a look." he nudged him with his elbow slightly to get his attention. It looked like the younger blond was getting lost in the scenery before them as well. He couldn't blame Alfred though, it was a remarkable sight that any artist would take the time to stare at; himself included.

Alfred raise his camera and pressed a few buttons. "This one?" he held it up and showed Arthur the same picture.

"Yes..." the Briton took a closer look as he examined the familiarity of the person's back. He then opened his mouth to say something but the words wouldn't come out after he had realized it was his own back that Alfred had captured.

"Why did you take a picture of me?" _Again_ was what Arthur wanted to finished his question with after being reminded of the _other _picture Alfred had took; the _other_ picture that kept him wondering for days nonstop why the photographer had photographed him in the first place. He just didn't understand the reason for the blond to keep taking pictures of him when he had made it clear that he loved photographing _beautiful_ things. Not things that looked like grumpy old Arthur; not things that represented anything but beautiful.

Unless...

Arthur blushed at the thought and shook it off. Only an oxymoron would be created if one combined the word "beautiful" with his name.

"It looked perfect." Alfred smiled at the screen as he dusted away a few snowflakes that had fallen on the waterproof surface. "You looked just perfect sitting there. See?" he outlined the way the snow surround the author and with the way the little bit of light was hitting his front and outlining the shape of his form in the dark. "You look so peaceful with everything. Melancholic but so beau..."

Alfred paused and looked at Arthur as if he had done something offensive towards the Englishman and looked ready to apologize. The author in turn just stared at him in disbelief. Utter disbelief. The same could be said about Alfred as well.

No way.

No fucking way was he going to say what he thought he was going to say.

There was no way.

Arthur's face lit up.

"Finish what you were going to say!" Arthur pulled on his elbow.

"No way!"

"Say it!"

"Nooooo!" the younger blond wailed and waved the camera away from Arthur but being careful not the drop it ten stories down the building.

Arthur let go of him and a huff also fearing that he might accidently send Alfred's camera flying down the pavement. Not that he would mind paying for a new camera, but he had a feeling that Alfred held a strong sentimental value to the device. "Oh, we're not doing this again." he grumbled and crossed his arms across his chest. Besides, he already knew what he was going to say anyways so pestering Alfred was useless anyways. But it would have sounded nice to hear a compliment from someone for a change and the reason for it. But he had a feeling Alfred held back the remark for a reason. The young lad probably felt just as awkward so that was another reason why he couldn't force it out of him. And even if he persisted, he doubted Alfred was one to give in so easily. The whole ordeal just reminded him of how deprived he was from any nice things said towards him. The last thing he wanted was to sound desperate for attention.

Alfred pouted and pointed his camera directly at Arthur's face. "I photograph whatever I like." he stuck his tongue out in a childish manner. Arthur couldn't help but laugh.

"Say, Alfred..."

Alfred placed the camera down on his lap. "What's up?"

Arthur tightened his grip on his pant legs. "Did you know that times of tragedy gives birth to the greatest inspiration?"

The American blinked and continued to listen.

"During those times, one gets the most passionate. It's as if their passion is the only thing left for them that they try their best to hold on to it for dear life and make the best out of it in fear that it too will disappear one day. You know what I mean?" he looked up at Alfred and all the youth could do was stared into those deep green eyes.

The author was really poetic for his own good.

"I've never really thought of it that way." Alfred scratched the tip of his nose with embarrassment when Arthur was able to comment on something so deep while he just sat there not knowing what to say. Well, nothing intelligent, that is. But now that he thought about, after his blow out with his parents, he did pay more attention to his love for photography. Maybe that was why he cherished his passion a lot more afterwards and thanked himself everyday for choosing it as a career. So he nodded towards Arthur. "Actually, I think I may get your point."

"But then..." the older man continued on as he shivered a bit at the sudden wind. Alfred draped part of is scarf on Arthur and the author smiled a thanks towards him. "...sometimes I ask myself if what I gave up for my passion was really worth it? I mean if you think about it in a 'equivalent exchange' kind of fashion."

Alfred looked at his camera sadly while thinking that if for some reason he were allowed back in time and given the option to exchange his passion for photography to live a happy life with his family, would he be able to do it. For as long as he could remember photography was a part of his being because it connected to his whole perspective on life and those around him. The way people laughed, smiled, looked, loved, sang, or even just the way everyone went about their everyday routine were all things that couldn't last forever; all things that should be preserved before they withered away over time. And sadly to say those things deteriorate as easily as they were created. That was how much Alfred knew. So, no, even if there was a way for him to trade in his passion for his previous happiness, he would not. Tragedy was what made Alfred who he was. He was sure the same applied to Arthur as well.

"I know what you mean, Artie." he shut off his camera. "But if I were to have a chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't." he stated bluntly. Arthur took his eyes off the sun rise and looked at Alfred wide eyed.

"You're not just saying that, are you?" he asked with surprise, thinking that anyone as young as Alfred would grab that chance and wind back time and take everything back as soon as the offer became available. What bothered Arthur was that maybe Alfred didn't know how he felt after all. Maybe the youth hadn't went through the same kind of hardships as he did. But then again, what Alfred told Arthur about him and his brother wasn't exactly what most kids the American's age would like to experience.

Alfred shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty sure. I don't even know where I would be without my photography."

"I understand..."

"What about you?"

Arthur's face turned red as he shrugged childishly. "I don't know." he admitted. As much as he loved writing, he didn't know if he would ever pass up the chance to undo the hell he went through up till now. Was his suffering a worthy price in exchange for what he loved doing as a career and passion? Or was his so called "love" for his career just an excuse he threw out to make himself feel better about his hellish life? The answer itself was as vague as his reply to Alfred's question.

"Shit, I just don't know." he propped his arms on his knees and buried his face into them. He hated not knowing or being unsure of things; especially when they were important.

"Hey, it's okay." Alfred consoled. He reached out to place his arms around Arthur but then stopped, not knowing if the Briton would approve of it. He didn't look like the type that liked to be too touchy with people.

Arthur groaned and leaned the right side of his body against Alfred, causing the photographer to flinched slightly in surprise. "Alfred..." he began.

"Y-yeah?"

"I am truly sorry about what happened the last time you were over. I just wish you hadn't witnessed that." he said against the younger blond.

"I said it was alright. It wasn't your fault." this time he placed his arm around Arthur to comfort him. The man felt surprisingly slender against his bigger build. He had knew he was bigger than Arthur when he landed on the older man during their first meeting, but he had no idea he was _that_ much smaller_._ The thought only made him hold Arthur closer because it just made the man seem so much more frailer.

"Alfred?"

"You're making me sleepy." he sighed

"Am I that comfy?" he grinned.

"No. But it has been a long time since I've rested on something soft."

"Good enough." Alfred chuckled and adjusted his body against Arthur's so that he too was comfortable and not in an awkward position."You know," Alfred began as he scratched his nose from the tickle that the snowflake gave him upon contact. "I ran into Francis again a week ago. He's looking for you."

Arthur shifted a bit against Alfred. "I know. He left too many messages on my voicemail and not once did he forget to mention you...and the deadline. I'll talk to him later. Damn frog..." he mumbled under his breath.

Alfred brushed one of the snowflakes out of his own hair and laughed while reminiscing his encounter with the Frenchman. Although it had been extremely uncomfortable to be with said man at the time, Alfred could honestly say that he felt a little satisfied with learning a little more about Arthur. Plus, he gained somewhat of a friend even though he still didn't know Francis too well.

"You guys don't really seem to like each other too much. How did you get stuck working together anyways?"

Arthur huffed out a breath of annoyance. "We met way back when I was studying abroad in France. And let me tell you it was only pure luck that we ended up working together today." he replied sarcastically. "I didn't think I would see him again after coming back to London. But I shouldn't be surprised with my luck."

"I had a feeling you two wouldn't work together by choice."

"We're the last people that either of us would want to work with..."

Alfred laughed out loud at the comment and kept his eyes on the sunrise. The sun was almost up by now since their surroundings were becoming more illuminated with day. Alfred glanced over at Arthur and found that the older man was just staring out into the light without a care in the world; a look that the younger American had never seen before since meeting him. And he had to admit, it suited the Briton much more than the pained scowl that he wore too often even if he was just merely too worn out from worry and anxiety to care. He had just wished the older man would look like that more often. Not worn out, but carefree.

"But he's not that bad of a person." Arthur admitted. "Well, as long as you get pass the creepy part." he snickered.

"Hey, you want to stop by that pub near your house later tonight?" Alfred asked.

Arthur shifted again in his position as his facial expression changed to that of disappointment. "I have work to finish, lad." he replied after remembering the amount of work he still had left before the deadline in two days.

"Oh, I see..." Alfred's voice dropped.

"But..." Arthur began as he forced himself to speak up before he regretted his previous decision. After all, Francis did tell him that it was about time he should open his heart to new friends if he didn't want to stay an old grouch for the rest of his life. "Do not pass up the opportunity for friends and love because one day you'll end up marrying someone just so you won't die alone rather than for love" were the words that the Frenchman repeated over and over again until it had become engraved into the writer's brain. But for some reason, it wasn't Francis' words that made him change his mind, but it was Alfred himself. If it was anyone else, he would have flat out rejected their invitation without a second thought, with or without his editor's advice. He just wasn't a people's person so to speak.

"I guess I can afford to take a bit of time off. I doubt I could get any work done with the way I am anyways." he replied. For the past weeks he hadn't been able to get any work done. Every day was the same routine and it had become a struggle just to force out a proper sentence in his writing. He would get up, sit at his laptop, stare at the screen for an hour and repeat the same procedure but with intervals to the bathroom and kitchen. Then he would go to bed even more stressed than he initially started after having no luck with placing his ideas in writing. That, and because each time he would realize he was approaching closer and closer to the deadline. Actually, sometimes he would not have any ideas at all, so it pissed him off even more.

"You mean it?" the youth beamed as the sun rose completely and shone onto the American's features just in time. The rays in morning sky casted it's natural bright glow over his face, making him seem more youthful. Breathlessly noting how much the sun suited Alfred, the author smiled to himself at how much joy he elicited by simply agreeing to be with him. He never knew that his mere existence actually mattered in any way. All he could do was admire the American beauty before him.

"Sure, lad." he smiled back at Alfred whose eyes he could have sworn were watering over right after his reply. The sun reflected the glassiness in Alfred's eyes as the youth blinked it away a few times before settling a relaxed expression on his face. But little did Arthur know that Alfred was indeed so happy he was finally able to see his friend that he was literally ready to cry. The American himself couldn't even believe it either since he wasn't the type to cry easily. That little tidbit was something he was planning to keep to himself because afterall, he was supposed to be Arthur's sun, and crying wasn't very heroic.

**XXX**

"I didn't know they changed this place up since the last time I was here." Arthur glanced around the pub that Alfred promise he would take him earlier this morning. Since the Briton hadn't been in there for years, he was surprised the place was so different in comparison to the last time he was in there. But then again, he shouldn't be all that surprised seeing as how it had been so long. He out of all people should know how much could change over the span of only a year. But he did prefer the name "London Pub" over the newer name "London Bridge, Baby." It just sounded so much classier.

"Since when did they replace the billiard area with a stage?" he asked a little offended that they dared to change the placed he was so used to. All he could think about was how he loved to play billiards on his days off. Beating Francis at the game was something he always looked forward to on Saturdays.

"I dunno." Alfred shrugged as he scanned the place for available seats. "It's been there ever since I started coming here."

"Still...it looked better with the billiards table." the older man complained as he shook his head with disapproval.

"Whatever." Alfred smiled and found an available table after a couple had just got up to leave. "Come on let's go over there." he pointed at the table near the bar stand and pulled on Arthur's sleeve.

Alfred gave a nod to the bartender cleaning the area around him and he in turn gave a small smile of acknowledgement to the pair approaching the table. "You know the owner?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, you mean Toris? Yeah! Ever since I started coming here he and I kinda became buds. Nice guy, you should talk to him sometime." Alfred pulled his seat out and sat down while Arthur did the same with his eyes still on Toris. When he came before, he never really acknowledged the Lithuanian owner. All they did was nod and wave each other goodbye at the end of the day, but they never took the time to converse. It always seemed like both were in a rush; Toris would be busy with the customers while Arthur constantly checked his watch so he could get back to his work on time. It was no wonder both were still complete strangers to each other even if they knew of each other's presence for years. But he did want to ask him about the change in the pub. Maybe they will a good subject for conversation.

" 'ey! You performin' tonight, Alfred?" called out a man with a Cockney accent who looked about in his mid-fifties. Arthur winced at the man's loud voice.

"Yeah, you bet your ass!" Alfred called back over his shoulder. The man raised his glass and winked at the young photographer as he went back to whatever conversation he was having with the gentleman sitting in front of him.

"Who was that and what the hell was he talking about?" Arthur asked, feeling a bit left out of everything. It felt weird that Alfred seemed to fit in more with the local than he did when he had been living in London for almost all his life. Maybe that was why Francis told him he needed to get out more.

"Oh, that was Ron." he laughed. "And he was talking about my performance here. People are scheduled in to perform every night. And tonight's my turn."

Arthur raised his thick eyebrows in shock. When was Alfred going to stop surprising him? "What kind of performances? Like poetry reading? Dancing? Or _story-telling_?" he emphasized the last one, obviously hoping that that was what the younger blond had in mind.

"Yeah, for some of the people here." he grinned.

"What about you?" Arthur asked impatiently.

"You'll see." Alfred winked.

"Do you get paid at least?"

"Not a lot, but it's still fun." Alfred smiled as he order them their drinks.

The two ordered their drinks and sat there to converse the night away. Alfred was the one mostly in charge of the conversation though, and it mainly involved this and that about video games and how cool this fellow called Captain America was. But Arthur didn't mind hearing his voice after going through such a long time without it. Alfred could be talking about French culture and much to Arthur's horror, he probably wouldn't have minded as long as he heard his voice. It was so strange that the author thought that the youth's excessive talking was due to him having so much he wanted to say to Arthur that everything just burst because it was just so bottled up during the time they hadn't seen each other. Arthur couldn't help but wonder how in the world could the youth be so energetic in front of him after talking nonstop for almost two hours that he forgot about the performance until Alfred was called on stage.

"Al! You're up lad!" Ron hollered across the pub after the lights were dimmed in the seating area while lighting up the stage that contained a few instruments including a piano and an old music stand with sheet music still on it. The small stage looked a bit tacky, but it still served its purpose.

Alfred quickly took another gulp of ale before quickly getting up from his seat. He mouthed a quick "alright" at Arthur and jogged on stage as some of the regulars at the pub cheered and clapped for him. Alfred grabbed the mic on the stand.

"Hey, everybody! How're y'all doing tonight?" he asked enthusiastically which made his voice echo loudly through the whole pub. All the people around Arthur whistled and cheered loud encouragements to the younger blond making himself comfortable on stage. Alfred winked at Arthur and the Briton turned a shade deeper in colour, fearing that the people would figure out who it was directed at.

Alfred fixed the mic in the position he wanted and then headed over to the side to pick up a guitar laying there with the other instruments. He strummed the strings a few times before heading back to his previous position. The blond turn a bit pink when a drunken lady screamed out a loud "sexy American beast," but he composed himself and didn't lose his nerves at the last minute.

"I would like to dedicate this song to a new friend of mine. I just want him to know how much he means to me even though we haven't known each other for that long." he smiled at Arthur but luckily no one else in the pub seemed to have cared all that much. Their attention was directed completely at Alfred. He began playing the beginning of the song serenely. Arthur didn't recognize the song but he still swallowed hard at the American's guitar skills even though he never saw any kind of musical instrument in his apartment.

Alfred closed his eyes and hummed, then he started singing._"The dawn is breaking, a light shining through. You're barely waking and I'm tangled up in you."_ he opened his eyes and glanced at Arthur, which made the author's heart skipped a beat.

"_I'm open, you're closed." _he kept his eyes intensely on Arthur. _"Where I follow, you'll go. I worry I won't see your face..." _he smiled again and closed his eyes. "..._ light up again."_

"I love his singing." a male voice behind Arthur said to the group of people he was with. The Briton mentally agreed. He was baffled at how angelic Alfred's voice sounded to his ear. The photographer's voice hummed sweetly through him that it sent a shiver down his spine. The only thing that Arthur could do was imagine that Alfred was singing to him and only him. No one else. And he would damn whoever thought Alfred was singing to them instead.

Arthur continued to stare at the youth getting lost in the guitar. There was no mistaking it, Alfred was definitely singing to him with the way the youth kept on stealing glances at him whenever he had the chance and then quickly look away when he found the author to be staring back. Yes, he was definitely singing to him. Him. Grumpy Arthur whose personality was so sour that it turned anyone who got in the way of him off; grumpy Arthur who never though in a million years would have someone he had just met stay friends with for more than a week let alone sing and dedicate a song to him publicly. The thought made his heart flutter with a happiness he hadn't felt in a long time.

"_Even the best fall down sometimes; even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills my mind,"_ Alfred hummed and his voice echoed serenely across the pub. Everyone was completely enchanted with him that even Toris had to put down the glasses he was cleaning just to listen to his voice.

" _I somehow find you and I collide."_ Alfred emphasized the last sentence as he almost purred the chorus into the mic. Arthur could hear some of the guests in the audience whisper words of admiration and about how the spotlight made the youth look so sensual on stage. He would be lying if he disagreed with any of them. The thought made him want to choke himself but he was too mesmerized in Alfred's voice to really care whether what he thought was appropriate between friends or not. There was just something in the song choice mixed with Alfred's voice that made his heart race. The way Alfred sung and stared at him convinced Arthur that the youth was definitely looking straight into the author's heart and reading every secret that he had hidden in its deepest parts that even he himself refused to dig up. Not only that, but the song was perfect. It was perfect; too perfect for him.

Too perfect.

Having someone sing to him was too perfect to be true.

He didn't deserve to have such an angelic voice sing to him. At least that was what he thought while Alfred continued to sing. Arthur ignored the surrounding audience's cheers and murmurs about the talented youth. Instead, the author imagined that the younger blond was singing about them; to him and only him. A sigh escaped the author and a single tear ran down his face but he was quick to brush it off. At that moment, Arthur only had on a face of pure joy when Alfred stole a glance at him. This only made the American sing with even more passion in order to further move the only man that he was singing to; the only man that he imagined to be present in the pub listening to him and the only man he wanted to make happy.

**XXX**

_After bidding what was once her true love goodbye, Rosa spent days fighting the turmoil in her being; countless nights of sleeplessness, loss of appetite, and an overall loss in her previous outlook in life all together. To sum up, she was the epitome of despair with no way of revival. All was shades of grey and her existence didn't seem to have any meaning or positivity that would keep her going in order for her to catch her dreams. She was ready to give into the spiralling despair that threatened to swallow her up the day her life fell apart. That is, until a faint ray of light called out to her to fight through the darkness. It was a voice she was unfamiliar with but trusted because she desperately needed a way out; needed someone to pull her out of her nightmare and comfort her being. It was a voice that found her one day when she was by herself at a floral shop looking for a some fresh flowers to put in her livingroom; it was a voice that took form of the long-time shop owner who she had only noticed for the first time on that faithful Thursday afternoon. _

_Foster was his name if she remembered correctly._

"Not bad..." Francis muttered while reading over the manuscripts that Arthur handed in that day. Somehow, out of a pure miracle, Arthur was able to complete the one hundred and eighty-nine page chapter that was due the next day when all he had was ten pages done the whole month he spent sulking and locked inside his house. Not that he felt the best when he finally went down to the office to give Francis his work. His physical state was equivalent to being hit in the face multiples times by a baseball bat and then drugged by the strongest painkiller existed to dull the pain. He should know through firsthand experience with the frog sitting in front of him at the moment. It wasn't exactly an experience he could forget. But then again, it was one of the most fondest memories between the two especially since Arthur was the one who came up on top in the brawl.

"And here I was worrying because you refused to talk to me for a month." he slapped the manuscript down on his desk with a look of satisfaction. "Once again you saved both of our careers." he smirked.

"You honestly think that I would be that unreliable? I'm not you, Pepé Le Pew." he rubbed his temples.

"I resent that, mon ami. But there is something I thought I should point out." he opened the manuscript again and skimmed through the text.

"What now? I already know how many spelling mistakes I have. That's what you're paid to do isn't it?" he grumbled as he glanced over to the manuscript as well. But his eyes were too tired to focus on any particular sentence so he didn't try too hard to read anything.

Francis chuckled. "Non, non." he smirked. "I just mean this chapter seems brighter than what you usually write."

"How so?" he yawned.

"While I hate complimenting you out of all people, the story flowed very beautifully. It wasn't a sudden transition into a less darker plot, but you made it seem like things are slowly starting to look up for the main character." he smiled.

"Did I now?" Arthur asked appalled that he would do such a thing without noticing it himself.

"Yes, you did." he flipped through it. "I almost did not notice it if I hadn't re-read it."

Arthur sputtered again but tried to compose himself in front of the Frenchman. "O-of course. That _was_ my intention afterall." he lied.

"Right." Francis replied with a raised eyebrow. "If you keep this up, it'll save us a lot of worry during deadlines."

Arthur nodded in response. He moved the pen lying beside him on Francis' desk and picked it up to have something to preoccupy his boredom; anything to keep him from dozing off.

"So why the change of heart, Monsieur Kirkland? I thought the series was going to be a tragic romance." Francis grinned as he pulled the pen out of Arthur's hand, receiving a noise of protest from the author in return. All Arthur did was shrug.

"Why would there be a reason?"

"Oh, I don't know." Francis smirked. "Shouldn't you know the answer to that question?"

"Shut up." he got up to leave but staggered a bit from his drowsiness. He was definitely going to sleep until he couldn't sleep anymore when he got home. Staying up for those nights really made him regret leaving things to the last minute to finish. Now that he thought about it, maybe getting out a bit really did help him with his inspiration. But it wasn't like he did much when he was out with Alfred. It wasn't as if they went to see a movie or some play that sparked the inspiration that wouldn't stop flowing for two days straight. Or perhaps it was because he was just plain happy after spending time with Alfred. That had to be it because he remembered showing up home completely overjoyed and did not hesitate to jump on his laptop to write nonstop. He also recalled how the words wouldn't stop flowing out of him as he became more and more excited at developing his plot. It was then he felt the sudden urge to let his emotional state decide the main character's fate in the chapter rather than a formulaic pattern of what kind of tragic romance would sell well with the readers. And all the while he thought of nothing but the time he had with Alfred.

"So if there is not a reason, then maybe there is a _someone_?"

Arthur threw him a dirty look and growled. "Say that again and I'll throw both our careers down the drain."

At that, Francis shut up and swore under his breath after Arthur turned around and left. "Denial can only go so far." he scoffed and went back to editing the manuscript. No matter how much he and Arthur argued, only a threat towards Francis' career was ever enough to send the man cowering towards any demand Arthur made. At least that was one advantage in the position Arthur held and Francis made sure to curse the Englishman for it each time they met.

As he corrected a few spelling errors in the rough draft that was more than likely due to the rush Arthur underwent when writing it, Francis shook his head in an amused manner again when he recalled back on how Arthur never failed to reminded him how times of crisis were also times of greatest inspiration was a principle the Briton lived by.

"However, times of happiness births even greater inspiration." the editor said to himself with a smile as his red pen glided across the page to cross out a misspelled "their" and corrected it to "there."

And sometimes Francis could never figure out if Arthur intentionally misspelled words to make the Frenchman's job much harder than it already was.

* * *

><p>AN: Can anyone guess where the names Rosa and Foster came from? And extra points if you recognize the song Alfred was singing.


	7. Jealousy

Chapter 7

Jealousy

"Perfect!"

Alfred grinned as he snapped a perfectly angled picture of the Big Ben that the local newspaper company requested not too long ago. This was probably the twentieth time that the American was commissioned to do a series of photographs of the tower in the past year. Not that he complained or anything, the compensation he received for them were usually very generous since it was the bigger companies that gave him those jobs. While the whole thought seemed amusing to Alfred, it sometimes got a little boring shooting the same thing over and over again with only a variation in the angel of the building. People would call him crazy for even thinking that about an easy job that pays that much. But that was just the true artist inside of him crying out. Money makes the world go around afterall and no matter how much Alfred disliked the great value people placed on money, he still needed to survive in this world. Especially if he wanted to be close to Arthur. But still, when he was in America he didn't remember any photographer saying anything about the huge amount of requests for the Empire State building.

Oh well.

After double checking that the photos were saved on the camera, Alfred took a quick glance at his digital watch before shutting off the device. "Just two more hours!" he chirped to himself as he started to head towards the direction the author lived. He had traveled quite the distance for the photo shoot so it would probably take him just a little over half an hour to get to the Briton's house, which means that Alfred would still be arriving too early. But the American didn't care if Arthur was going to berate him for not giving him time to clean up before he came, he would just say that he lost track of time. Plain and simple. It wasn't his fault that he was beyond ecstatic that Arthur called him up and asked if he wanted to do anything. Apparently the author had quite some time off before his next deadline and would be "bored to death" if he didn't have anything to entertain him. But Alfred had a feeling that that was just an excuse on Arthur's part to spend time with the American. Or maybe he was just being narcissistic as usual. But either way, he didn't care because seeing Arthur was what he really cared about. The grumpy author being the one who suggested the plan just added to Alfred's excitement.

The American grinned to himself as he started towards the direction that lead to said author's house to make the most of their day. But there was no telling when Francis could call and ask Arthur to come in to his office to talk about his manuscripts or for a last minute interview with some big shot at some publishing company, so arriving there early was a better idea anyways. Alfred shook his head. No, he wasn't going to think about what _would_ happen if they were interrupted. That thought alone was enough to make him want to scream out in frustration because he was looking forward to the plan so much that he couldn't sleep the night before.

Alfred slowed down his pace when he realized he had passed by the cafe that he and Francis sat down in for a friendly (if not awkward) conversation about a month ago. What he almost forgot was the fact that he made the owner of said cafe a bit too uncomfortable for his own liking. The American could only kick himself for being oblivious and bringing something up that normal people were smart enough to obviously avoid. The very idea of pointing out someone's physical trait (especially one that said person was not too fond of) upon first meeting just screams inappropriate in social standards. An apology was long and overdue.

The blond stepped back and jogged over to the cafe and cautiously peeked into the side window. He was relieved to find that it wasn't a busy day save for the few customers getting some sweets and coffee to go at the front counter. But other than that, the tables were relatively empty. Alfred let out a breath and walked into the store. The little bell on top of the door jingled upon his entrance.

"Welcome!" beamed one of the waitresses cleaning the nearby tables. Alfred smiled and nodded in return, recognizing the same girl from last time. He looked around to find Antonio but had no luck. Maybe the owner wasn't in and it was only the two waitresses and cashier managing the place. If that was the case, then he'll just come back the next time he passed by, not that he was too keen on meeting Antonio again.

"May I help you?" a petite girl came up behind Alfred and poked his back. She shyed away as soon as he turned around to look at her.

"Yeah actually! Is Antonio in today?" he asked as he continued to scan the place in case the Spaniard was around and he just didn't notice.

"Oh! Yes he is. He's just on break right now. Would you like me to take you to the back?"

Alfred rapidly shook his head. "That's fine! If he's busy, you don't have to bother him." he quickly added, half relieved that he didn't have to confront Antonio and possibly get his head bitten off for being a rude prick and partly disappointed that he might not be able to apologize for being rude the last time. Or even worse, maybe Antonio didn't even remember the situation and he would risk looking like an idiot in front of him and the workers. Passing on his apology to the waitress to save face and trouble would probably be the best option.

"It's okay." she pointed towards the back door that lead to the kitchen. "He doesn't do anything on his break. Come on." she tugged at his sleeve and he followed with quiet groan. He didn't hide the grim on his face too well since the girl kept glancing at him with concern. She even asked if he wanted to sit down for a bit because he didn't look too well but he denied it. So he was going to see the man after all. He didn't know whether to be happy or scared.

"Antonio! Someone is here to see you." the waitress poked her head into the door and called out to him. Alfred swallowed hard.

The Spaniard lifted his head from a book in his hand and glanced at the girl quizzically. But he immediately smiled as soon as he laid eyes on Alfred.

"Alfred!" he grinned and immediately approach the man to hug him. The waitress left the two with a slight giggle and closed the door behind them.

"Hi! How's it going?" Alfred replied while trying hard not to accidently stare at the scar on Antonio's face again. At least he was now feeling more at ease with the way he was greeted.

"Good, good! And how are you? Are you here to see me?" he asked with the most enthusiasm that Alfred has heard from any human being. It made him feel quite happy that someone was actually this overjoyed to see him. Perhaps what they say about happiness being contagious was true afterall. At least it was better than having said man walk up to him and punch him straight in the face for last time's incident. But he was getting way to ahead of himself since Antonio seemed too cheerful of a person to do something like that.

"Good! And yes! I just wanted to come by to see you again." Alfred laughed.

"Ah, that's nice to hear. I get lonely sometimes when I'm on break." Antonio joked back and covered the scar on his chin like last time as he pretended there was an itch on his skin. The American twitched with guilt since the other man's discomfort practically radiated throughout the whole room. But for some reason he couldn't tell if Antonio was uncomfortable with the fact that he was face to face with the same man who accidentally pointed out one of his most hated flaws or the fact that there was more truth than humour behind that joke. If the latter was true, then it means Arthur wasn't the only one left suffering after their fallout.

Alfred swallowed hard. "Hey, listen." he broke eye contact with the man and stared guiltily down on the ceramic tiles decorated with white roses on each of the four corners. "I just wanted to apologize."

Antonio blinked a few times. "Oh? For what, my friend?" he asked with confusion.

"I..." Alfred glanced at the man and yet again, the young blond found himself staring at the deep scar on the left side of the man's chin. No matter how many times he cursed himself over and over again for being an inconsiderate asshole, he just couldn't keep his eyes off of it. While he knew it was the rudest thing someone could do, he also needed to know the story behind it. It was as if the scar itself was a form of art that told its own story the same way an artist chooses to express their ideas through their work; a tragic love story with an unhappy ending for Arthur and Antonio. There had to have been some explanation for why it existed in the first place.

"Ah..." the Spaniard scratched the spot and smiled. "There's no need to apologize. Many people stare. I should be used to it by now, but I'm too much of a self-conscious person." he chuckled and took his hand away from the spot. "I guess my impulse to cover it up just makes it more obvious, no?" he laughed again.

"No. It's my fault! I really shouldn't be staring in the first place. You have every right to be offended. Oh God, I'm such an idiot!" Alfred grumbled and smack his face with his right hand.

Antonio looked at the younger man in front of him with surprise from the smack. "No, no! I'm not offended! Please don't hit yourself!" he reached over and pulled Alfred's hand away from his face in case he decided on a second round.

"But I stared at it."

"And some people have outright asked me about it too!" Antonio patted his back reassuringly while gently placing Alfred's arm back down. "So relax! My goodness, are all Americans this tense?" he asked with genuine concern.

Alfred sighed. "Well, that's a relief. I thought we got off at the wrong foot before."

"Not at all." Antonio grinned and Alfred couldn't help but have his face heat up from the man's flawless smile. The man _was_ a model for a reason after all.

"Well, sorry to bother you on your break." Alfred backed away slightly from the embarrassment at having made himself look like a fool in front of a nice guy like Antonio. "I guess I'll take my leave now." Alfred waved and turned around to leave but Antonio grabbed his arm.

"No way! Come, sit down." he pulled him towards a chair that was next to the one Antonio was on and gestured for Alfred to sit down. "Oh, or do you have somewhere you need to be?" he asked the photographer.

"It's fine. I'm not in a hurry or anything. I was just on my way to Arthur's house." Alfred replied but stopped when he saw the Spaniard's reaction.

"Arthur, you say?" the man looked at Alfred with bewilderment while he repeated the man's name in deep thought as though he were living a moment of nostalgia by recalling all the memories that he and the author shared in their past lives together. Alfred's stomach cringed for once again being inconsiderate when Antonio's expression changed to that of despair. But for some reason, that wasn't the _only_ reason for his discomfort.

"Not Arthur Kirkland, right? The writer?" Antonio asked.

"Y-yeah. That's him." Damn it, why did he have to be so idiotic to even mention Arthur when Francis clearly told him that the two had a falling out years ago? And judging by Antonio's reaction, it seemed like the two were quite close and their parting was anything but on good terms. It was obvious that their breakup did quite the damage on the two.

Antonio finally took a seat back on his stool and chuckled faintly. "Wow, I haven't heard from him in a while. How is he?" he asked with a hint of melancholy in his voice.

"Good." Alfred smiled. "Cranky, but good."

"Doesn't sound like he changed too much." Antonio sighed contently, relieved that the Briton was alright after all. "I'm just glad he's doing good."

Alfred swallowed hard. Good? Far from it. Sure maybe he was successful career wise, but after witnessing the tremendous turmoil brewing inside of Arthur, Alfred could easily conclude that the author was far from happy. He wasn't living, he was enduring; barely able to get through the day without being able to let go of the past; barely able to move on.

Much like himself.

But he couldn't blame Antonio for not knowing. The two didn't seem like they talked anymore so there wasn't a way for the Spaniard to be too involved in Arthur's life.

The only thing Alfred could do was smile back and clear his throat. "I should be going now, he's expecting me and I don't want him to get grouchy again." he laughed but felt a heaviness overtake his chest as he tried to fabricate a non-existing happiness for himself and Arthur. It was funny how the more Alfred lied, the more believable he became each time he told people that he was fine. He became so believable that when he does outwardly show his sadness, he was often mistaken for faking it. But every time he lied, he felt disgusted; disgusted at the fact that he couldn't even find the strength to express his emotions; disgusted that he felt the need to make up this fantasy world just so people could see him as "normal" rather than label him a clinically depressed psychopath who could snap at any given moment because of years of bottled up frustration; disgusted that even he was starting to believe the illusion behind his own lies. What a world he lived in. Such a beautiful world and yet it's ideals were so corrupted that one can't help but think the beauty was only there to sugar-coat the existing evil and trick unsuspecting individuals to just "go with everything" while casting aside those like himself and Arthur. He had hoped that his passion for photography was not in actuality a way to make life easier for himself by reinforcing that illusion behind that beauty through preserving it in his photos. If that was true, then he might as well give up on everything since there was nothing there to begin with.

Only a lie.

"Oh wait." Antonio got up from his seat and quickly jogged over to the cooking area of the kitchen and came back with an empty box and a plate of scones along with a few slices of cake.

"These are Arthur's favourite. Especially these." he pointed at the pieces of tres leches cake and started placing them nicely in the box. "He used to love scones, but ever since he tasted this cake, he's loved them since." he folded the top of the box and handed it over to Alfred.

"You don't have to..."

"It's fine! They're on the house." he smiled. "But just promise me one thing, okay?" he kept his hands on Alfred's after the blond received the box.

"Sure."

"Don't tell Arthur these are from me, okay?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "But why?"

"I can't have him suspecting that I keep making Francis and now you take these treats over to him." the taller man smiled, gave Alfred's a reassuring squeeze before finally letting go.

"But I'm sure he wouldn't-."

"Don't worry about it, mi amigo. Just remembering his face from the first time I made this for him is good enough for me." he smiled warmly. "And I want him to keep smiling."

Alfred held onto the box tightly and buried his eyes under his bangs. "Sure..."

"I'm sure you'll take good care of him." Antonio laughed as he patted the younger sputtering American on the back before heading out to the front of the store. "Break time is over for me. It was good to see you today, Alfred." he winked after tying on his apron and taking out two big plates of cupcakes and muffins.

"_Why does everyone keep saying that?"_ Alfred thought to himself as he made his way through the store and out the front door. A few customers going in bumped into him since it was nearing lunch time. The blond looked back through the window and noticed it was much more busier than initially; so busy that the once empty tables were now full with people continuing to line up at the front.

"Well, at least business is picking up now." he smiled and pulled his scarf over his mouth.

**XXX**

"What in the world took so long?"

Alfred looked at the watch on his left wrist. "It's only half pass eleven!"

"And exactly five minutes from when you were _supposed_ to arrive." the Briton scoffed and closed his front door behind Alfred. He shivered from the cool breeze that was forced it by the impact of the door and crossed his arms closer to his body.

"Oh my God..." Alfred rolled his eyes and shook off any remaining snow on his head. Even though he was a little disappointed that he actually lost track of time with Antonio and ended up late instead, he was glad he cleared the air with him. It made him feel a little better about running into Antonio again in the future.

"You're going to catch a cold, you dolt. And you're wetting my house." Arthur complained with annoyance as he helped Alfred hold onto the box of pastries while the other took off his clothes with a sneeze. Despite Arthur's complaints, Alfred still refused to wear a dorky looking hat to keep warm.

"What did I tell you?"

"I didn't think it would be this cold!" he crossed his arms over his chest without thinking and shivered. The last time it was this cold was when he was still back in America and even then he didn't remember shivering the way he did now. He remembered his cheeks going numb but the cold never cut through his body the way it did on his way over to Arthur's house. Sometimes he thought he was just getting older and his body just wasn't as strong as it was. A bit like the old saying, the older you get the weaker you become (even if he was far from old age). But a part of him was still stuck on the idea that the reason he wasn't as cold as he was now was because he spent most of his time laughing and playing around with his brother during the Winter. The way they played in the snow throughout their youth kept Alfred's mind off of the lonely cold of Winter. That, and because running around kept his body temperature up. But nonetheless, he still enjoyed the fact that it was someone he cared about that kept him warm as cliché as that sounded.

He sneezed again and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"Well hurry up and come in, I set up the fireplace." Arthur hung the taller man's coat onto the nearby rack and walked into the livingroom where the fireplace was blazing brightly in the cozy room. The American rubbed his hands together and sigh contently as the cold immediately left him.

"Wow I've never had a fireplace before." he sat in front of it and warmed himself.

" Is that so?" the older man came back with two mugs of coffee and tea along with a tray of sugar and cream. The tea belonging to the obvious individual.

Alfred grabbed the tea and sipped on it, earning an angry grumble from the author. "We had a fake one back home but it always pissed me off." he mumbled and took another sip from the light blue mug while the author shook his head at the fact that he had just gotten his beverage stolen.

Arthur rolled his eyes and settled for the coffee that was meant for the photographer. "May I ask why an inanimate object would anger you?"

"It was fake."

"And?"

"I hate fake things."

"I suppose." he sighed, knowing what the youth was getting at.

Fake.

A word he always avoided using and when he did, it hurt him to no end. There was just something about it that made him want to avoid it at all costs. It wasn't a word he liked to throw around flippantly like some people. If he did, then it would make writing his novel much easier. Hell, he wished he could use the word without being reminded of any kind of suffering so he didn't have to stop and rethink his word choice during a deadline. But since there was no way for him to suppress those feelings, it was something he had to live with. Arthur mouthed the word to himself as he looked down sadly at his untouched coffee. Decaf coffee is fake isn't it? But he enjoyed that over actual coffee. Therefore, does that mean what he happily experienced in his youth was fake? He hated over complicating things. That tendency was probably the reason why he couldn't move on in the first place.

"_I hate them too." _Arthur thought to himself.

Alfred scanned the living room for Arthur's laptop in order to bother him about reading his rough draft. But something in the distance caught his attention; a small photo frame tucked behind a few books in the small shelf next to the fireplace. According to Arthur, the shelf was placed there for easy access to dictionaries, thesauruses and such just in case he decided to do his writing in the living room since said place was more "comfy" than the rest of the house. Alfred had suggested using an online source to save the Briton the trouble of having to flip through all those pages, but all Arthur said back was how electronics were taking the charm out of reading the old fashion way and that people were becoming more and more lazier because of computers. It was pretty ironic considering the fact that Arthur did all his writing on his laptop.

Alfred got up and headed over to the bookcase, earning a curious sound from Arthur. "What are you looking for?" Arthur stretched his body to the side to look around Alfred to see what the youth was so enticed with. "Do you need to borrow a dictionary?" Arthur joked but when he heard no laugh from Alfred, he sighed with embarrassment at the failed attempt with humour as usual.

Alfred picked up the frame, immediately recognizing the other person in the photo with Arthur. "This is a nice picture." he smiled as he scratched the back of his neck.

Arthur glanced at Alfred and pushed himself off the couch, groaning as he was forced to stand after getting comfortable in his spot. But he needed to know what had drawn Alfred's attention so he walked over to the photographer and glanced over his right shoulder.

"Oh..." was all he could muster.

It was nice photo indeed and Alfred couldn't help but admire how happy the two looked together. It wasn't a professionally photographed picture but that was what made it all the more precious. Antonio had his arm swung around a younger Arthur in glasses and it looked like they were both caught in the mid-laughter since it appeared to be more of a candid photo than something they had both prepared for. If only Alfred knew what had made them laugh like that.

"That's Antonio." Arthur mumbled and took the photo out of Alfred's hands as if he was afraid the younger man might break it. The action almost annoyed the American.

"_Remember it is Arthur's story and he will tell you in time."_ Alfred thought back to what Francis had told him and held back from asking Arthur who exactly was Antonio was to him since it would have been the reasonable thing anyone would ask out of curiosity. He'll just have to fight back the need to know everything possible about Arthur if he didn't want to risk driving him away again.

"He was a friend of mine." Arthur chuckled. "No...actually, he was more than that."

Alfred, surprised, stared at the author. Was he actually going to tell him about Antonio?

"He was..." Arthur's face went a slight shade of pink.

"He was...?" Alfred repeated.

Arthur laughed again. "I was a teenager. And in love." he sighed and brushed a few dust particles away from the glass. "He was everything to me." he continued under his breath.

He didn't know what it was, but Alfred felt a heaviness in his chest; a heaviness that made it hard for him to keep that grin on his face; a heaviness that made him...sad. It wasn't predominantly pity that he felt for Arthur even though he did want to console the older man for having gone through something heartbreaking. It was a sinking feeling where his heart was and he couldn't figure out what was exactly the cause. He just figured it reminded him of his own sadness, but there was one thing that made the feeling different from a simple desire to console a heartbroken friend. He envied Antonio. The man who made Arthur the happiness person on earth. There was no way someone who wasn't on cloud nine could smile like that in a photo; free of worries and feeling as though all challenges on earth could be conquered. That was how Arthur Kirkland looked with Antonio. Whereas Alfred felt the opposite the same time the photo was taken when he was back in America.

Sadness.

Empty loneliness.

He wanted to at least once experience what the Briton had once upon a time.

"Alfred! What's the matter?" Arthur asked with alarm.

Alfred looked up from the picture questionably and found that Arthur was staring at him with worry. It was then he finally realized what had alarmed Arthur.

"I...uh...I..." he forced a smile but a look of forlorn wouldn't leave his face. In fact, the smile just made things worse if not more obvious that he was upset. The author's look of panic just screamed of self-blame for being the one who caused Alfred's state of sadness. But then again, maybe letting the author think that was better than revealing the real reason for his sorrow.

" I don't even know anymore..." he said quietly as Arthur suddenly pulled him into an embrace and caught him off guard.

"Oh dear God, I'm so sorry." Arthur patted his hair to sooth him. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

"It's okay." Alfred pulled away and grinned. "Sorry...I was just thinking about something sad."

"Something sad that happened to _you_, lad?" Arthur asked with concern.

"No..." Alfred sniffed a bit. "Just something I read in a book. You just reminded me of it." he lied.

"I see. Well, try not to think too much about it. And I'm sorry for upsetting you" Arthur gave a small smile and reached over for a tissue but Alfred declined it. Gesturing to his sweater that made a good substitute for a Kleenex as long as he didn't blow his nose into it again. Alfred almost laughed at Arthur trying hard not to show his disgust.

Alfred wiped his eyes some more and laughed cheerfully. "I'm fine, bro! I just get a little emotional sometimes with books and shit! Happens with movies too. I'm a total sap when it comes to sad stories." he laughed again but in reality that was a total lie. A dirty lie. He knew better than anyone that he avoided anything that contained sad stories because he would almost always end up breaking down from them. He even considered going to a therapist about the problem since he knew he couldn't go on avoiding anything that made him sad. But in the end he decided against that. Whenever it happened, he just thanked whatever deity out there that no one ever saw his breakdowns because they were always in the privacy of his own room. The only other person who knew was his own brother, but even he didn't know the real reason behind the outbursts. The only thing he told Alfred was that it wasn't normal to not give a good movie with a tragic plot a chance just because he didn't want to feel sad. Because that just wasn't the way to live life anyways since one can miss out on a lot by trying to avoid getting hurt. And that didn't apply just to good movies. But Alfred had a feeling his bother didn't really know what he was talking about anyways, even if those were quite wise words.

That was what drew Alfred to the British author in the first place. No matter how sad or emotional his work became, Alfred just couldn't put down the story. There were more than one occasion where Alfred would tear up in the middle of reading one of Arthur's books, but unlike anything else the American had read or seen, the books didn't make him relive his trauma. No, the books touched him emotionally and reached out with a warm embrace that always told the youth that everything will be alright because he was not alone; he was not the only one who was suffering and that he will heal along with others who have met unfortunate circumstances; that most importantly, the one behind the novel understood him more than anybody in the world. Alfred's tears from the novels were not tears of sadness, but were tears of joy because of an unspoken bond he had shared with Arthur even before they had met.

"Then do you cry when you read my novels, Alfred?" Arthur asked apologetically. But when Alfred shook his head, he let out a breath of relief.

"No way!" he lied so the author wouldn't be guilt ridden for the rest of the day or possibly longer since he seemed like the type who wouldn't let things go easily. "And if I did cry, it would be because I was touched by your words, old man!" Even though that last part was true, he chuckled sarcastically so he and Arthur wouldn't be put in a socially awkward conversation. Again.

"Well, you're back to normal now." Arthur scoffed amusingly and gave Alfred a light nudge on the side before he placed the photo back to where it was. He noticed that Alfred still had his eyes fixated on the small part of the photo that was peeping out from the thick dictionary covering it and pulled on the taller man's arm, gesturing him towards the couch.

"If you want to know something, all you have to do is ask." Arthur said.

The first thing that popped into Alfred's mind was asking Arthur everything he could think of about him and Antonio. Mainly, how the two fell apart when they were so happy just years ago. But there was something stopping him.

"_It is Arthur's story and he will tell you in time."_ Again, Francis' words rang through like a bell.

"That's alright. You can tell me whenever." Alfred replied with a small smile and shrugged to play off the comment as a joke. "Come on, let's have some cakes. I'm starving!" he grabbed the box full of pastries and opened it.

"Isn't it a bit too early for sweets?" Arthur sat back down next to him and peered over him curiously to examine the box.

"No way! I would eat these for breakfast." Alfred grabbed the napkins that Antonio placed in the box and took out a scone for Arthur. He dangled the pick napkins decorated with tiny hearts in front of the Briton and said something about himself having boxers with the same pattern, but Arthur snatched them away with a red face.

"You're lucky I had breakfast. Otherwise, I wouldn't even touch this stuff." Arthur made a look of disgust but accepted the treat anyways.

"You should loosen up a bit." Alfred took a bite out of a pink frosted cupcake that the Spaniard threw in. He swallowed the chunk of cake in his mouth with only a few bites in, making Arthur grimace. "Because...life just passes you by before you even know it..." his voice went into a solemn whisper. He looked up after a while of silence and saw Arthur peering at him in mid-bite into his scone. "Sorry..." Alfred shrugged.

"That was brilliant, Alfred!" Arthur set down his scone and quickly kneeled down to reach under the couch. He pulled out his laptop.

"Oh. So that's where you put it." Alfred sighed at the obvious attempt to hide the object from the photographer. He watched as the Briton quickly turned his laptop back on and immediately started typing rapidly with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.

"So...may I ask what you're typing?" Alfred peered over his lap to only have Arthur move the laptop out of the younger blonde's line of vision.

"You just provided me with the best closing line for my paragraph." he smiled and made the final changes into the paragraph he was writing before Alfred had showed up and closed his laptop again after saving it. "Thank you."

Alfred blinked and took another bite out of his cupcake with the most confusion written all over his face. The author slid the computer back under the couch and chuckled humorously at the younger blond. "It really was the perfect thing to say at the end. Don't look so confused, lad."

The dumbfounded American nearly choked after realizing that something he said will end up in the great Arthur Kirkland's work. His words. Alfred F. Jones. Never in a million years would he have thought this day would be possible. Hell, it seemed so impossible that he never even considered having the honour to meet the man let alone contribute to his novels. Feeling flattered was an understatement for Alfred. Perhaps he would be willing to overlook Arthur hiding his laptop from him.

"Oh my. What do we have here?"

"What?" Alfred peered over and saw Arthur looking in the box of pastries. Arthur took out a slice of tres leches cake and handed him a piece before taking one for himself.

"How did you know that these are my favourite?" Arthur smirked at Alfred, giving him an I-know-what-you-did look to get a reaction out of the young man.

Alfred opened his mouth to tell the author about his little meeting with Antonio but refrained when he remembered that the man had asked him to keep that little secret between the two of them. Although Alfred was curious as to why Antonio had asked him such a thing while at the same time having some idea for the reasoning behind that request, the photographer remained silent. "Lucky guess." he replied instead.

Arthur took a bite out of the cake and smiled blissfully. "As good as ever." he chuckled. "I'll go get us some more tea." he said as he placed the cake on the coffee table and headed for the kitchen. All Alfred did was stare at the cake with curiosity.

Ever since he was a child, cake was always considered junk food for him; something that he would be treated to once in a blue moon because it wasn't something he could have very often. Many times he and his brother would secretly buy a few slices in their school cafeteria without their parent's knowledge and eat it on the way home from school. But no matter how good it felt to finally satisfy their sweet tooth, neither of them ever had on the same expression as Arthur did when he tasted Antonio's cake; the expression of utter bliss and a recalling of a fond memory that made the Briton happy. Needless to say, he didn't understand how simply tasting cake could bring about such happiness when all it did for Alfred was give him a temporary state of satisfaction for his taste buds. But eating sweets did allow him to remember the good times he had with his brother when they were sneaking in a few treats behind their parents back just before their meals. The way they would laugh at their parents' expense and enjoy themselves without having to worry about being lectured about the nutrition value of junk food. So maybe that was what Arthur was feeling at the moment; a sense of keeping alive a memory that can never be relived again with someone he cherished; someone who was now officially not a part of his life anymore. If that was the case, does that mean Arthur still loved Antonio very much?

Alfred bit into the piece of cake and found himself liking the treat very much. Not only was it beautifully made, but it tasted even better than it looked. He even started feeling a bit envious that this little piece of food was able to bring Arthur much more happiness than he did in a matter of seconds. It wasn't because he wasn't happy for the author or that he was jealous at the fact that someone else was more happy than he has ever been in years, he just felt a little jealous. But he just didn't know what he was jealous of.

Alfred stared at the corner of the photo enviously. He didn't know how to explain the sensation he was feeling but it wasn't a good feeling. It didn't make him depressed or anger either. He just felt and overly huge need to be in the same position as Antonio in that photo. He wished he was the one who had his arm around Arthur making him smile just as brightly as he was in the picture with the Spaniard. He sighed to himself and promised to be the best friend possible to Arthur and to make him smile like he meant it. No, he didn't have an obsessive celebrity complex, he was just the type who wanted the best for someone he cared about. He was thankful of that much at least.

Alfred went over and picked up the picture of Antonio and Arthur again. _"I'm so fucking jealous."_ he thought to himself. _"Just you watch, I'm going to make you happier than Antonio has."_ he laughed under his breath and placed the picture back when he heard the clattering of ceramic cups heading for the living room.

"What do you take in your tea again, Alfred?" Arthur called out.

"Milk and sugar." Alfred called back out. This was how many times the Briton has forgotten what he took in his tea? Alfred was never picky with his drinks since he usually liked to pour a lot of milk and sugar into his coffee or tea to drown out the bitterness of caffeine. But Arthur would always ask no matter how many times they had coffee or tea together. He was starting to think that the man was just very forgetful or he just didn't listen whenever Alfred told him. But for some reason, the American didn't think it was either or. It was most likely due to loneliness; saying and asking anything just to get a response out of another person. And speaking from experience, the American could easily say that being alone for a long time tends to make a person want to talk and talk and never let the person they liked leave. Even he has caught himself asking Arthur a number of nonsensical questions just to hear the man's voice. The way he desperately tried to seek out Arthur when the man seemed to have disappeared from his life for that brief time was more than enough proof that Alfred could not stand the idea of even losing the author. Not being able to hear Arthur's voice again was a nightmare.

He grunted when he thought about the picture again.

Never in a million years has he ever considered he would feel such discontent towards a photograph of all things.

**XXX**

"Pick up..."

Arthur grumbled to himself as he called Alfred's phone for the tenth time. Alfred had forgotten his camera at Arthur's house and from what he was told, the youth was scheduled to do a photo shoot the next day for another magazine company. He would feel absolutely horrible if Alfred had lost money for that day all because the two of them were so distracted by the movie they "used as research" for Arthur's next chapter when in reality it was obviously just an excuse for them to slack off without thinking about work. The two were so engrossed in the movie that they lost track of time and Alfred had to literally run out because he had forgotten that he needed to drop by Kiku's place to pick up the broken laptop that was being fixed. The Briton was still wondering why they chose Cruel Intensions as a movie choice. It wasn't exactly something he would want to re-watch again God forbid. The main characters gave him chills, especially the female one.

"Damn it, Alfred." he hung up and dialled his number. Again, no answer. Arthur threw his cordless phone on the couch and started to pace around his living room with worry. If Alfred was still at Kiku's place then shouldn't his cell phone be with him since it was very obvious he grabbed it on his way out? And if his cell phone was with him, then shouldn't he be able to answer it? There really wasn't a reason for him to shut it off unless it ran out of power. And it would be even more pointless if Arthur went over to Alfred's house to drop off the camera only to find the youth not even home yet. But then again, stopping by to check on him in case something happened didn't sound like a bad idea.

"Ah, damn it all. I'm not taking any chances." Arthur packed Alfred's camera in his messenger bag and grabbed for his peacoat.

It didn't take long for the Briton to arrive at Alfred's apartment building since he nearly bolted down the night street when thoughts of what could have happened to the young American started getting out of control in his mind. Even though it felt like an eternity to get there, it only took the older man twenty minutes to arrive by foot.

Out of breath, Arthur ran up the stairs and opened the front door of the building, only to find the second door to be locked and required guests to buzz the upstairs to get it open. The author cursed himself for not knowing Alfred's buzz number.

"Are you kidding me?" he kept pulling on the door in vain, getting more and more angry each time. After the fifth tug at the door, he slumped over and slammed his head against the glass, not even feeling the pain running through his skull. He had spent the last few hours panicking because Alfred didn't pick up his cell phone, ran all the way over to his place just to have a mere door stopping him from reaching the youth all because he didn't know the buzz number. The buzz number of all things for Christ's sake. Arthur groaned and hit his head again, cursing that it was always the smallest things that stop him from reaching his goals. He would take whatever miracle came his way at the moment as a good sign for him and Alfred.

"Excuse me." a voice behind Arthur said with irritation. The author turned around to find a teenaged Asian boy with eyebrows almost as thick as his own reaching for his keys in his backpack. Arthur quickly apologized and moved out of his way but was still scowled by the boy for being a pest. He stepped aside to let the boy open the door and immediately went back to mentally cursing himself.

He didn't know how many seconds or even minutes had passed, but he finally heard a click from the door and the boy's voice again. "Are you coming?" the boy held the door open and stood there waiting for Arthur impatiently.

"Oh! Right! Thank you!" Arthur quickly stepped through the door as soon as the teenager let go of it. He just couldn't believe that he had gotten so lost in his panic that he didn't even acknowledge the saving grace in the form of a snotty Asian teenager. Despite how rude the boy came off, Arthur was still thankful they ran into each other at the time. He would have to thank him later.

The boy didn't say a word and went through one of the doors that lead to the stairway before Arthur could utter a thank you to him. The blond shrugged and hoped that he could do it the next time he happened to run into him again. He could go after him in the stairwell and walk with him on the way to Alfred's apartment but it was no time to be having idle chatter with strangers. If it was any other time, Arthur would have been more than happy to take the stairs for good exercise but right now, it was urgent so he didn't have the patience to run all those stairs when it would be faster via elevator. The more time passed the more Arthur's mind started to wander to the worst case scenario. Some people called him paranoid while others called him pessimistic, but he liked to call it just being himself. That was just the way he was and if he could accept these qualities about himself, then the people around him should as well.

That was what Antonio always said.

Arthur's chest tightened at the thought and he quickly shook it off. This was no time to get lost in the past again, especially what really mattered at the moment was Alfred's wellbeing. If it turns out that something did happen to his American friend then he didn't know what he would do. For the first time in years, Arthur had finally found someone who understood the importance of having a passion; someone who understood what leaving behind the past and start fresh in the present to heal a broken heart really meant; someone to heal those scars with.

Someone who made him happy.

"I swear to God, Alfred. If something happened to you..." Arthur's eyes began to sting with tears along with the breeze that cut through his lashes at the speed he was running. He blinked away the droplets when he turned the corner and he braced himself for what he feared. However, what he saw was no other than the young man himself standing in front of his own apartment door. Arthur almost raced him to the American but he still had half the sense to compose himself and approach Alfred in a dignified manner to save face. That, and he didn't want to alarm the poor lad with his emotional wreck of an appearance. Anyone would be scared out of their wits if they saw a panicked man charging at full speed towards them whilst screaming their name.

That crap only happened in novels.

"Alfred! I've been trying to contact you for hours!" he walked up to him, trying to keep his voice calm.

"What...?"

Arthur reached into his bag and pulled out the camera while trying to catch his breath. "You left your camera at my place and I've been trying to contact you all this time to tell you, but you didn't answer." Arthur handed the camera over to the younger man but was only met with a look of utter confusion and annoyance. The taller blond looked at Arthur and then back at the camera with a questionable look. Arthur paused. "What's the problem?"

"I can't believe this..." the other man sighed and ran his hand through his blond hair. Arthur grimaced at the attitude.

Arthur didn't know what had come over Alfred, but he was acting stranger than usual. He thought that maybe something had happened at Kiku's place that might have upset the younger man but that couldn't have been it. He didn't look too upset, his behaviour was just a bit strange. Not only that, but he even looked a bit off for some reason. He didn't know if he hadn't been paying enough attention when they were together earlier in the day because he was just simply too damn happy to see him, but Alfred's hair seemed slightly longer and wavier. There was no possible way for hair to change so much in such a short amount of time unless he made a quick visit to the hair dresser. But then again, it didn't seem like something Alfred would do since he spent most of his time trying to talk Arthur out of going to hairdressers because it was less of a "rip-off" to do it on your own.

"Did something happen, Alfred? You look a bit different too." Arthur stepped closer to get a closer look at the boy in front of him.

The boy backed away."Jesus Christ! I'm not-!"

Just then the door to Alfred's apartment swung open and there stood in all his glory no other than Alfred himself, looking just the way he did when he left the Briton's house save for the blue pyjamas pants he probably changed into when he got home.

Arthur looked at the two men in front of him back and forth the same way Francis did whenever the man was swamped in piles of paper during a deadline as he tried to figure out what was going on or where to begin questioning the situation before him.

"Al...?" Arthur asked unsure of himself. But judging by Alfred's surprised reaction, the American was just as confused if not more.

"Mattie?"

"Al."

"What is going on here?" Arthur asked.

Without even acknowledging Arthur's presence, Alfred grimaced. "Mattie...how...?" he shook his head in frustration as he took off his glasses to rub his eyelids. "What are you doing here? No, correction," he let out a deep breath to calm whatever was threatening to explode from inside him. "how the hell did you find me?"

The other young man grit his teeth and shoved Alfred hard. "Three fucking years, Al!" he stepped closer and glared. "Three fucking years, Alfred! That's how long it took me to finally figure out where the hell you were!"

Then it finally hit Arthur. His brother. There was no question about it. The brother that Alfred was always talking about was in fact his twin brother. It was no wonder he mistook Matthew for Alfred. Their resemblance was uncanny except for the hair style. They both even had glasses, so of course it was easy to confuse them. But what was more shocking was their reunion. He had always pictured them a lot happier if they ever met face-to-face because of the stories he always heard from Alfred about how close they were in their youth. As he watched the two argue, he now understood how Alfred must have felt when he was stuck in the middle of his and his father's spat over Peter not too long ago. The phrase about not judging a book by its cover was displayed in its finest right in front of him. But the same thing could be said about his own family circumstance.

"I just can't believe you!" Matthew clenched his own hair and complained angrily. "How could you leave me with them? Are you that selfish?"

Alfred tightened his fists. "Oh, so this is what it's about? You?" he pointed at his twin.

"Don't make me sound like some selfish prick, you hoser!" he jab a finger at Alfred's chest. "I spent day and night trying to find out where the hell you fucked off to for the past three years behind our parents backs! You know the crap I had to go through to lie to them about why I've been falling asleep in school or why I always stay up all night every night just to find some lead to your whereabouts? Oh, and did I mention I almost got kicked out of school for flunking three courses because I was too preoccupied with finding you?"

"And why would you do that? You all didn't seem to have a problem when I left!" Alfred retorted and it seemed the last comment was all Matthew could take.

"You really are clueless, aren't you?" he muttered as he shook his head with disappointment.

"You know what?" Alfred stepped out of his apartment as he grabbed his coat from behind the door. "I...I can't do this now. Fuck this." he walked by Arthur without saying anything and left through the stairway, leaving the two standing there.

Arthur glanced at Matthew silently.

Matthew sighed loudly as he slid down on the carpeted floor of the hallway and rested his head on his knees. "Goddammit..." he muttered with exhaustion.

Arthur sat down next to the young man and tried as best as he could to console him up even if he himself was not exactly the person with the wisest advice on the planet. "Are you quite alright?"

Matthew lifted his face and glared at the man. "Oh yeah, just peachy. I'm jet lagged and when I finally get to see my brother after three years, we get into a fight instead of hugging each other in tears like normal humans beings."

Arthur almost flinched at the reply since Matthew wasn't at all what he pictured from what Alfred has told him. He always imagined the young man to be more quiet and timid than Alfred since he was always told that the younger twin was the reasonable one who didn't like to take risks out of the two brothers; the one who was the voice of reason. Perhaps Alfred leaving affected Matthew in more ways than one.

"I'm sorry." Arthur sighed.

"It's fine, Mr. Kirkland." Matthew waved his hand and brushed off the apology without as much of a care whether the older man apologized or not. "And before you ask how I know you, I recognized you from the novels Al read. And I didn't scream over you like Al probably did because I'm not a fan. Sorry, I'm not into the stuff you write even if you are a good author." he said bluntly leaving Arthur more shocked than insulted. The boy sure had a sharp tongue.

"That's fine." Arthur chuckled at how different he was from Alfred and had to restrain himself from petting the boy's head like a child. The odd thing was that he felt he and Matthew would get along very well since it seemed the two shared the same kind of dark sarcastic humour. He was always fond of people with a witty personality even if the one sitting next to him pretty much insulted him within the first few minutes of their meeting. Arthur cleared his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" he spoke gently.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you and my brother..."

"Sorry..."

"I missed him, okay?"

"Fair enough."

After that, the two sat in silence.

* * *

><p>AN: This took me too long to edit. I know there must be many grammar errors but I just wanted to get this chapter out. It bugs me that I've left it for too long.


	8. Thank You and Goodbye

Chapter 8

Thank You And Goodbye

"_Why did you put me here?"_

"_Why do you ask?"_

"_Why did you put me here just to suffer?"_

"_That's just the way it is."_

"_But what's the point?"_

Arthur's brows twitched when he felt himself doze off for a brief second on Alfred's couch. He and Matthew had sat outside Alfred's apartment for an unknown period of time before the American finally came home looking exhausted from possibly nonstop drinking at the nearby pub. Matthew had nodded off to sleep and was lying on the floor next to Arthur with his messenger bag as a pillow while the Briton was sitting up against the wall resting his eyes. He didn't know how many hours had past, but before he knew it, he heard an annoyed sigh from above and Matthew's weight being lifted off against his side. And that was how they all ended up back in Alfred's humble abode much to the photographers apparent disappointment.

"Don't you fall asleep on me too, Artie." Alfred said tiredly as he came out of his room.

"You should not have run off like that if you didn't want us to wait so long." Arthur placed his hands on his lap and looked at Alfred crossly. He had to admit, the way the photographer reacted was a little too out of line. But then again, Matthew wasn't exactly innocent either. Who would have thought a sweet looking boy like him would have such a sharp tongue? Not that Alfred wasn't sweet looking for Heaven's sake! Matthew just came off as more of a quiet and reserved boy.

"You didn't have to wait." Alfred leaned against the wall behind him and bumped his head against the hard surface, feeling a slight force run through his skull. A dull pain was there too but that was probably from the fair amount of drinking mixed in with the crying he did.

"You know I couldn't just leave him..." Arthur replied.

"But you also didn't have to wait either." Alfred shrugged.

Arthur shook his head and leaned back against the couch. "Is he okay?" he gestured towards the bedroom that Alfred laid Matthew in after they came from the hall. From the way the other boy slouched against Alfred, it was quite obvious that he had been exhausted from jetlag. The telltale bags under his eyes just screamed of sleepless nights leading up to the day of his arrival in London. Probably from a combination of nerves and stress.

"Just tired I guess." Alfred shook his head. "I've never seen him so worn out before." he said with guilt.

Arthur smiled at Alfred's concern. "Is it not a good thing that he would chase you all the way over here?"

Alfred swallowed hard and ruffled his already messy hair with frustration. Of course it was a good thing, but was it a good thing for Matthew to have travelled so far for someone like...like...himself? The good-for-nothing someone who almost brought Matthew to a downfall as bad as his own; the good-for-nothing someone who was anything but a proper brother towards his younger twin a few years back. So of course it was a good thing that Alfred finally was able to see his twin again, but it would be pointless if Matthew's life was lead towards a dead-end because of him.

Then what? If that happened, then what?

How would Alfred be able to live with himself if he was responsible for ruining his brother's life for good this time?

"Not for him though..." Alfred pushed himself off against the wall and pulled the bedroom door shut. "It's not a good thing for him..." he mumbled.

Arthur looked at Alfred sympathetically and patted the seat next to him, much to the younger man's confusion. But in the end, Alfred slowly made his way over to the spot and sat down next to Arthur. The older man smiled sadly while the photographer took off his glasses and rubbed his eyelids. At the moment, Alfred needed someone there to hold him more than anything.

"Can I hear your story?" Arthur placed his hand on top of Alfred's and squeezed affectionately, comforting him.

"My...?"

"Your story. You know, about you, your brother...your family..." he replied and Alfred swallowed hard since the last person he had talked to about his life was Kiku. That was quite a while ago and he didn't know if the past was something he wanted to relive again. It was something that he hoped to be done with after Kiku helped him leave his old life behind and move on to London. But Arthur wanted to know. He wanted to know Alfred in and out, so was it worth telling him? Could this mean that the older man wanted to be a part of Alfred's life by seeking a way into his heart's most deepest and darkest corners? If so, then that meant Alfred wasn't the only one who wanted to be a part of the other's life, right? If this was able to bring the two closer together, then Alfred didn't mind reliving the past a million times over.

"Wow, I don't even know where to start." The American chuckled in deep thought.

"The beginning?"

Alfred raised his eyebrow. "You mean from when Mattie and I were conceived? Well-."

"I don't think we need the prequel." Arthur gave his hand a squeeze and laughed. "Well, the prequel is important but we can save that for a more appropriate time, lad."

Alfred nodded and understood what the older man was hinting at. "I already told you about the photograph...so I guess I'll backtrack to just a little before that."

Arthur prepared himself to listen attentively. He always loved stories no matter how sad or happy they were, so he made sure to pay complete attention each time. As an author, he knew how important it was to have his audience pay attention to even the tiniest details. Those little details are what make up the future context in the novel. And in Alfred or anyone's case, those past details make up what a person will eventually become. They make up their emotions, their personalities, the way they live their lives, and pretty much everything about them. Every details about a person's past dictate how he/she will live in the future. That was exactly why knowing those little details was important because it provided a way of truly knowing someone from what made them who they are. At least that was what Arthur believed.

Alfred scratch the back of his head awkwardly. "Just promise me you won't think differently of me after hearing this."

"Of course."

"Well," Alfred took another glance towards the bedroom and then turned back to Arthur, who sat there with anticipation, waiting for the youth to speak. Alfred chuckled at the man's reaction before speaking. "my parents wanted both Mattie and I to follow in their footsteps in the medical field ever since we were little. They pretty much instilled the idea into our little heads that it was our purpose or some shit like that to become just like them." Alfred smiled as he remembered a few happy memories involving himself and his brother before they entered high school.

"I remember you mentioning that." Arthur scratched his chin and nodded in agreement.

Alfred perked up. "Yeah, Mattie didn't have a problem with it at all. He loved everything that was involved in the medical field. Me on the other hand," he gestured towards himself and laughed. "I was okay with it, but I still didn't see it as a passion."

"Ah, I see." Arthur agreed again.

"It was more like...how do you say it?" the photographer raised his eyebrow. "Oh, a pain in the fucking balls."

Arthur erupted into laughter and had to take a minute to compose himself so he would be able to listen to Alfred's story attentively without breaking into giggles in between. Another rule of listening to stories was that laughing at inappropriate times was a definite mood killer that would render even the most saddest story's impact useless.

"Anyways, but I was still willing to stick it out as a backup profession in case whatever passion I ended up chasing didn't work out. It wasn't too bad since the studying wasn't as awful as I thought it would be." he sighed contently. "But then..."

"Hm?" Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's again when he sensed the youth's discontent.

"I joined the school's photography club." he smiled sadly. "I thought it would be something nice to help me get away from all the studying. Who would have thought I would fall in love with it so deeply?" he shrugged but the sadness refused to leave his face.

"I know exactly how you feel. I was the same with writing." Arthur smiled as he remembered the first time he experienced the rush of his passion running through his veins, calling him and pulling him into his eventual love for his profession.

"It's such an awesome feeling, right? But...the friends I made in the club weren't exactly the best influence on me." The American's face went sullen. Unfortunately, he was young and wasn't exactly the most emotionally stable person in the world at the time. So it didn't take too long for Alfred to warm up to the other members of the club and neglect everything else around him. Including Matthew. And it definitely didn't take long for Alfred to become too involved with his new companions' bad habits.

"Let's just say my friends weren't exactly the type of people who liked to stay out of trouble." he continued as he remembered all the things he forced himself to do just to escape the harsh reality existing in his home. His involvement with the club and it's people was his only means to feel alive; to feel like he belonged somewhere; to feel human. Anything was game to him and he didn't plan on going back to the pain at home.

"I barely came home after school and practically forgot about Mattie." he sighed. "I don't blame him for being angry with me though..." he chuckled sadly. "I just hope he forgives me for not being there for him all those years."

Arthur nodded. Even though he couldn't physically be there for Peter, the little boy knew that he was with him at heart and would drop everything in a second to give them both a better life. Even if Arthur had to doom himself in order to accomplish that, he would do it in a heartbeat if it were possible at the moment. No hesitation. So yes, the Briton knew for certain that Matthew did not hold such a thing against Alfred. If they were as close as Alfred said they were, the younger twin would have likely understood Alfred's reason for acting out the way he did and not hold it against him. Siblings just understood each other like that.

"I'm sure he understands..." Arthur smiled. "Even though Peter is young, he still understands a lot of the things that goes on between us. He understands why some things are possible while others are not. So you should give Matthew more credit than that."

Alfred nodded with a smile even though deep inside his heart that dark secret still caused him to instinctively second guess his decision to tell Arthur. Not only did he not want to relive it, he did not want Arthur to know that side of him even existed in the first place. But he knew Arthur wasn't the type to judge him based on the past, right? Because Alfred himself wouldn't do that with anyone he met. Kiku was the biggest example since it was only recently revealed that the Japanese man had quite a violent falling out with an older brother from the past. Despite that, his past didn't faze the American one bit. All Alfred felt was complete sympathy for Kiku and nothing else. If he said so himself, both revealing each other's secrets actually brought the two men closer together rather than the opposite. That was how strong their bond was and he could sense the same for Arthur and himself. So perhaps it was alright for him to open that chapter of his life for Arthur; perhaps it wouldn't hurt for the English author to hear a story from him.

"I was..." Alfred took a deep breath. "I was...pathetic back then."

Arthur looked at Alfred with surprise. The young man had always come off as an optimistic individual with such a high self-esteem that it seemed foreign to the Briton that he would use such words to describe himself.

"I still regret it to this day even though it happened years ago..."

Arthur gave Alfred's knee a squeeze. "If you don't want to talk about it..."

"No...I want you to know." It was true, he did want him to know. To him, the more people who knew about this and accepted it as a part of him, the faster he would be able to heal from the past. It wasn't because he was seeking attention or compliments to boost his ego, but he was looking for acceptance. That sure, he may have fucked up in the past, he may have acted out of line, but that was all water under the bridge that can't be changed; that people would have to accept him as a whole package or nothing because what he was in the past made him who he was today.

"If it weren't for me..."

"...one of dad's patients wouldn't have died." Matthew said from the doorway as he stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleepiness away from his eyes. He held back a yawn and sat down next to Arthur with the look of complete fatigue still present on his face.

Alfred nodded ashamed. "Yeah, what he said..." he mumbled.

"But of course, it wasn't your fault so I don't know why the fuck you can't just get over it." Matthew retorted.

"Because I..."

"And if you hadn't defended yourself, YOU would have been the one lying in the back alley dead!" Matthew this time shouted to make his point. "YOU would have been the one raped and dead in a back alley somewhere if you hadn't done what you did!"

Alfred clenched his forehead. "Shut up! Shut the hell up!" he pulled on his locks and ripped a few strands out of frustration as he remembered the man he had defended himself against; the man who tried to violate him after a late night party that him and a few members of the photography club decided to attend. A bit of drinking and a little experimentation with drugs was what he was told they would be doing; just the normal "activities" he and his new "friends" did since the first time they all started to spend time together. Who would have thought that he would be violated by someone he considered a friend? Who would have thought he ended up killing that friend in defence while trying to protect his own life? Who would have thought the people he trusted the most would betray him and take the side of his perpetrator?

Who would have fucking thought?

"I don't know why you don't listen..." Matthew muttered coldly. "...just because he was a patient of our dad's doesn't mean you weren't allowed to protect yourself. So what if our dad considered him a third son from all those years of taking care of him during his rehab? YOU'RE his real son." he gestured his hands with frustration to emphasize his point. Arthur had the feeling that it was more than frustration coming out of Matthew.

"And mom and dad blamed me. They cared more about him dying than what he did to me."

"Yeah, well mom and dad can go fuck themselves. I have nothing to do with them anymore so please..." Matthew's voice cracked slightly as he tried his hardest to keep himself under control even though he was very close to losing it. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and counted to ten in his head. The last thing he wanted to do was yelled at Alfred. He always hated doing that so he trained himself to mentally count whenever he felt he was at his breaking point. "...just stop blaming yourself, Alfred..." he continued calmly this time.

"Why do they blame me?" Alfred asked but Matthew only shrugged as Arthur looked on sadly.

"Because they can't see past their own selfish desires."

"I know..."

"And because they pride their work over us."

Alfred hated it. He hated the fact that he was denied the proper sympathy that he needed when he was victimized on that day years ago. The fact that he was blamed and hated for merely defending himself from harm was all he needed to understand his position in his family. "You brought this upon yourself for getting involved with those people! He was a good kid!" was what they said and was what haunted Alfred to this day. Even living in the same town where his problems derived was too much for him that he had to escape. Though he considered it a coward move on his end, he also saw it as a path of freedom; an opportunity for him to not only place his little brother out of danger, but also to move on to a new chapter of his life. But then again, his actions could also be seen as abandoning Matthew to rot alone in their home. That was one thing he could not forgive himself for.

"I'm so sorry Mattie..." Alfred mumbled as years of pain overwhelmed him and yet left him at the same time. What did people call this again? He recalled it was something along the lines of...

"...in order to heal, one must open up old wounds again." Arthur placed his arms around him and replied, almost reading the younger man's mind.

Alfred's face heated up from the contact between them. Not from the physical contact, but from the warmth in Arthur's voice that radiated from his words. Never has he heard words that made him feel so relieved and comforted. It was almost as if years and years of pent up emotions were immediately lifted off his shoulders in less than a second by Arthur's words. It wasn't like he hadn't heard those words before, but hearing them being directed at him from someone he cared about felt so comforting that he wanted to just scream to the whole world just how happy he was.

"It's okay..." Matthew slid over and reached for Alfred's hand. He held Alfred along with Arthur. "...I didn't come here to blame you. I missed you, that's all. I..." he smiled warmly at Alfred. "...I want to be a family again. I wanted to see my brother."

Alfred smiled back at Matthew as he took a hold of his younger brother's hand and squeezed tightly. "Me too."

Arthur couldn't help but feel that that was how a reunion between brothers should be like. Perhaps one day he could have his own with Peter.

**XXX**

After Arthur had left Alfred's apartment, he felt relieved for not only because Alfred was safe and sound afterall, but also because the two brothers ended up having a reunion that he would give anything in the world to have with his own siblings. Leave it to the Americans to have the type of loving relationship that one would only see on television.

"Will I ever have a happy ending like that?" he asked the night sky as he continued down the quiet path. It was quite nice actually, walking down a snowy night sidewalk without the dreadfulness of Winter cutting painfully through his pale skin. It was nice to actually be able to enjoy the beauty of the season without having to worry about keeping warm. But the only answer he received back from the dark was a slight howl of wind brushing past his legs with snow trailing along it.

He stopped in front of Antonio's pastry store and paused. He checked his watch that read three more hours until the store's closing time. And he had three hours to spare too. Was tonight the night that Arthur wanted to finally say what he hadn't been able to for all those years? Was tonight the night he finally found closure to one of the most hurtful events in his life? If Alfred was able to do it after so many years, then so can he.

Tonight was the night.

Arthur walked forward to the pastry shop and swung the door open with a light jingle sound coming from the top hinge. The breeze made the small blond waitress shiver slightly but earned a smile from her regardless. Arthur nodded back and sat down on a nearby table and took the menu in his hand to look busy. The least he could do was approach this with some tact seeing as how it had been years since his last goodbye with Antonio. Even if it wasn't a proper goodbye that would give him closure, it wouldn't be too responsible to barge in angrily demanding to see the Spaniard.

"Can I get you anything?" the young waitress asked.

"That's alright, young lady. I'm fine with just some tea with milk." he smiled as she nodded in response.

"I'll be right back!" she skipped off to make the beverage.

Arthur drummed his fingers on the lace covered table and looked around the shop while he waited. The last time he remembered, the place was still under construction when Antonio first opened the cafe. But at time, the two had already ended everything so Arthur couldn't properly congratulate him. His brow twitched at the memory of their parting and his heart suddenly ached.

"_Ugh...now's not the time." _he thought.

"I didn't think I would see you again." Came a smooth Spanish accented voice from above. The Briton looked up and recognized a familiar face.

"May I sit with you?" Antonio smiled and set down the warm tea for Arthur.

"Yes. Thank you." Arthur nodded as he took the hot beverage in his hands and warmed himself. It reminded him of all the times Antonio had made him drinks on a cold Winter night when they were together. Those hot drinks that they shared together as they would spend their weekends watching television or just not doing anything at all. All that did was talk and take in each other's presence. Yes, those would have been good memories if they weren't doing them behind another's back; if only the sense of betrayal wasn't present then they would have been good memories. They would have been good memories if Arthur wasn't the "other person."

"How are you?" Antonio asked with a smile while avoiding eye contact with the shorter man. It was obvious both hadn't forgotten their past as Arthur was making sure not to make eye contact with the Spanish man as well. Not too much at least.

"Getting by." he sipped his tea. "And you?" he answered as nonchalantly as possible, trying to compose himself in a professional manner. There were some customer's who had recognized him when he entered the shop, so the last thing he needed was for him having a giant outburst with local cafe owner and ex-model to be the top headline of The Times. And he knew if that happened, Alfred would be one of the first people to find out since he worked for that company quite often.

"It's been good." Antonio smiled.

"Has it?" Arthur's voice changed and so did the atmosphere between the two men.

"Please don't bring this up again..."

"Because you know it's true."

"It's been so long. Why are we talking about this now?" Antonio pleaded quietly while looking out for customers.

"Because it's something that should've been discussed the day we decided to see each other. And..." Arthur swallowed a bit of his tea. "...it's something _he_ should've known." he sighed.

Antonio sighed with frustration. "We're happy now, why should _he_ have to know what we did?"

"That's exactly why it's not right."

"But it's all in the past."

"It's funny, this is the same conversation that we had a long time ago. I still remember the way you kept running away from the topic. Hanging up on me and all..." Arthur sighed. "No wonder why it didn't go well for me."

"...what do you want me to say...?" Antonio asked quietly in a pleading voice. "I don't know what you want me to say, Arthur."

Arthur set his tea cup down gently on the small ceramic plate. "Nothing in particular. I just...didn't like how things ended with us years ago. I want to make peace."

The ex-model leaned over the table in deep thought. It was true that he wasn't the kind of person who liked to talk about anything personal let alone confront problems directly, but that was what lead to the main problem in the first place. The main problem of running away from his responsibility and into the arms of another for comfort; the problem of reaching out for what he was lacking in his relationship rather than dealing with what was going wrong in the first place; the problems he was having with his long time partner Lovino, and instead of trying to fix them, he did the worse thing one can do to someone who he claimed to love.

"You were unfaithful to Lovino and yet he still does not know. Does he?"

Antonio clenched the knee of his pants. Of course Lovino still didn't know yet. He was having such a hard time even bringing up the subject that telling just seemed completely out of the question. How was he able to bring up the fact that oh yes, he was having problems with Lovino because of a few things they disagreed on, but instead of dealing with them, he turned to someone else and made that person think they were the world to him and then went around and hurt them anyways because he realized that a life with Lovino was what he wanted in the end. In other words, he hurt Arthur as well and he knew it. The Briton had thought they were perfect together; thought that Antonio would chose him since he was showered with the Spaniard's attention and love; showered with endless promises of being together only to be tossed aside and told that the initial spark that was felt between them was gone. It was a shame that Antonio wouldn't have told him if the author had not forced it out of the man with persistent questioning of where he stood in their relationship. But at least Arthur could give himself that much credit; at least he was courageous enough to face the dilemma right on rather than running away and living in denial for God knows how long. That idea alone was his saving grace from spiralling into a deeper hole of despair.

"Plus, I thought you loved me...I sacrificed so much for you and yet I was nothing but second to Lovino." Arthur sighed as he stared at his reflection in the cup of liquid that was still emitting a small amount of steam.

"I have nothing to say..." Antonio replied sadly as he shrugged. There was really nothing to say. No matter how many times he apologized or how guilty he felt for hurting people he cared about, there wasn't a single word in his vocabulary that could express how he felt at the moment. Nor was there any word or thing he could say or do to reverse what he did. What was done was done. The only thing to do was either live with it and feel guilty day in and day out, or move on.

Move on.

It was funny that that was what he was always taught to do while growing up, and yet, moving on was the most difficult thing to do even though it had been years since him and Arthur's parting. Not that he still had feelings for Arthur, but it was more like he couldn't face what he did. And that alone was what trapped him in the past and forced him to relive his guilt over and over again.

"That's alright. I only came to make peace. I don't want to feel like your enemy forever." Arthur said.

"Arth..."

"And don't worry I would never say anything to Lovino. I have no right since anything beyond us now is none of my business anymore. It's your decision to tell him or not. It's something that you have to live with." he ran his hand through his own locks and smiled at nothing in particular. He just felt relieved. "We did have good times and you did make me feel special. But that's all in the past."

"Right..." Antonio looked down and the table cloth and focused his attention on the floral pattern.

"Furthermore..." Arthur reached out and touched the small scar on Antonio's chin. "I am sorry for this." he brushed his thumb on it soothingly as he recalled the memory of Antonio breaking the news to Arthur. He could remember the day when everything just shattered before his eyes when those four words were said to him. "I don't love you" followed by the coldest goodbye he had ever gotten resulted in the younger Englishman to grab the flower vase that he had bought and hurl it towards Antonio at full force. All he wanted to do was make Antonio hurt as much as he did. He never meant to physically scar the man, but there was a part of him that wanted to show Antonio the emotional scars that were left behind in his own heart after everything they had been through; to show that he gave up his own way of life for the man; that he had lost everything all for the hope of one day being together happily. Though they were not visible scars, they were just as prominent as the one on the Spaniard's face if not more. Regardless, it was time to move on. He felt relieved for finally coming out and saying what he kept bottled up for so long.

Loose ends were finally tied.

Antonio took his hand and removed it from his face. "I am sorry for everything, Arthur." he said remorsefully.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur began. "it doesn't change anything now." he smiled weakly at the other man. Arthur finished his tea and left money on the table next to the bill. "I hope you and Lovino do find happiness. And who knows, maybe we'll both find happiness. Just..." he sighed and then chuckled. "...not with each other."

Antonio nodded as a wave of sadness swept over him. "So is this goodbye?"

"No." Arthur smiled as the taller man looked at him with surprise. "It's thank you for the good times. Let's start again." he placed his hand on Antonio's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. As he lifted his hand, he also felt a heavy weight lift from his heart. All the years of emotional built up that never got released finally lifted off of him like a heavy burden. And maybe, just maybe, he could finally begin his journey of moving on. A fresh start.

This was probably how Alfred felt earlier.

"Goodbye, Antonio." he ran his hand playfully through the Spaniard's hair and started to leave. The only thing Antonio could do was look on with relief that the two finally had a positive goodbye.

"Oh, Antonio?" Arthur turned back.

"Si, Arthur?"

"Thank you kindly for the cakes. I knew it was you all along."

"Oh...did you...?" he asked bashfully.

Arthur nodded. "There is no need for you to do that anymore."

"Oh...that's no problem." The Spaniard's gaze fell with disappointment.

" I'll just come by for some whenever." he smiled.

"That sounds great!" Antonio grinned back and watched as Arthur finally made his exit through the door. The door closed with a small jingle sound, signalling that it was time for Antonio to get on with not only with his work for the evening, but also with his life. Everything from here on will be a fresh start. A fresh start with Lovino and also a fresh start with Arthur as mates. In other words, even though the two finally bid their goodbyes on good terms, neither felt they had lost anything. Rather, they both felt that they had gained something irreplaceable out of this whole ordeal. Not only emotional experience nor a valuable lesson in life, each felt they had gained back a valuable friend. The good friend who supported Antonio with his modeling career back n the day, and the good friend who urged Arthur to take the risk of becoming the successful author that he was today. Their story as lovers may have ended years ago, but this was the beginning of a sequel; a sequel about two friends getting back together and looking forward to a new beginning; a sequel entitled "Thank You and Goodbye."


	9. Onwards We Go

Long time no see! Sorry for taking so long on the update and for the possible spelling and grammatical errors. It was a pain to edit everything even though I had the chapter done months ago. Once again, I'd like to thank the new and current followers of this story! Your comments encourage me every step of the way. So enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

Onwards We Go

Arthur sat in the office chair and scanned the room while he waited for Francis to return with the other half of his manuscript for his novel. The Frenchman had suggested that it would have been best if they met up as soon as possible to put everything together and also to decide on a cover since procrastination was not on top of his list. They still had plenty of time to sort everything out, but Francis made it clear that if he had to go through another rushed deadline then they would pay with Arthur's blood this time. The threat did nothing to scare the Briton, but he wasn't the type who favoured rushes anyways.

However, inviting Alfred to come along did make up for the time that Arthur would have to spend stuck in the small office with Francis. Thank God for that at least.

Out of boredom, Arthur flipped to the prologue of the story in the manuscript. As soon as his eyes landed on the first paragraph, he chuckled at the irony considering his last meeting with Antonio and ignored the many red pen marks that Francis butchered the pages with. Arthur smiled at the first person perspective in the prologue. It was the very few instances that he actually felt closely connected to the main protagonist Rosa while writing. Any other time from the third person made him feel rather distant from her while things unfolded in the story. It made him feel like an outsider even though the novel was partially biographical. But he knew better than anyone that for the type of novel he was writing the third person was essential instead of limiting like the first person would be. He was just relieved that Francis was willing to let him sneak in Rosa's perspective in the prologue. Perhaps that was why he favoured that passage so much. Although he had to admit that writing from a female perspective was not an easy task.

"It's been a while hasn't it, Rosa?" Arthur spoke to the manuscript, ignoring the fact that he might have looked completely insane from an outsider. He traced the paragraph with his right index finger.

_Love is wonderful. Love is hurtful. Sometimes love is just completely pointless for some people. And yet, love is the biggest part of my life despite the hurt and happiness it has given me. It is rather cruel, isn't it? We cannot live with it and yet we cannot live without it. It is a catch twenty-two. But for some, it is something worth fighting for; worth going through heartache and pain to experience what little happiness it can give us. While some would rather live in loneliness than go through the hurt that comes with it. But in the end, the question is, is it worth it? Is avoiding the hurt worth not experiencing love at all and is experiencing love worth the hurt? To be or not to be? _

_I suppose that question will always remain unanswered unless one chooses to experience one or the other._

_Hello friends, my name is Rosa and I would like to share a personal account with you; an account that will take you back to my first experience with love and heart break; an account that will illustrate my journey to becoming the person that I am and also how I was a victim of my own despair. I can't say if I had even the slightest chance to take it all back I wouldn't because somehow I think whatever came out of it was not worth the pain I endured. However, if I had not experienced my fair share of pain, I might not have met HIM even if there was some other way to become stronger._

_Him. _

_My love._

Arthur paused at that little change he had made right before he handed the manuscript in to Francis. At first, Rosa was not supposed to have a new love. It was solely a novel about her own individual struggle and growth that eventually ended in her death either figuratively or literally; a novel about the end and yet a sense of relief from her suffering. But for some reason, Arthur instead felt compelled to illustrate the events that lead her to meet Foster. A novel about the end suddenly became one about healing and moving forward. And that alone was a telltale sign that something had indeed changed inside the author. It was just funny how life is like a story in progress: one little change can render the story completely different from its initial draft.

Sometimes he still wondered why exactly he gave her a new love out of all things that could have changed Rosa. For all he knew, she could have had a new career or even some kind of life altering journey. So why must a person be the catalyst for the positive change? It _was_ around the time he met that American, so perhaps meeting someone new just sparked a hint of inspiration for the author? Unless it was something else and if it was he'd like to know what the heck it was as soon as possible. He hated being left in the dark.

Arthur continued reading on.

_But I would like to start from the beginning._

_When I began my last year of university, there was a gentleman that I was immediately drawn to. He was nice, funny and beyond charming...the complete opposite of yours truly. Everything that I wasn't he was. He was an extrovert and I was an introvert. I preferred to keep to myself in class while he flourished in the company of others. Even more astonishing, he was a model for a top class Spanish fashion designer. So naturally, those around him were struck by his charismatic character and showered him with all their attention._

_Myself included. _

_Like the young girl that I was, infatuation hit me as hard as it hit the next person who saw this man, but I chose to admire him from afar because let's be honest, not only was he a star in our eyes but he also had a long time partner whom he loved very much. After hearing the many loving stories about the two of them from him, he became something unattainable for me._

_Therefore, I settled with being his mate because he seemed like someone I could really value in my life. He made school much easier for me to get through and made me laugh every time we had class together. So then I decided he was someone I would like to keep around me for a long time despite my one-sided feelings for him. But it was something I was willing to deal with. I was willing to let go and be happy for him and his partner because he became a good friend whom I cared about. He was nothing but a good friend to me and it would only be time before my infatuation disappeared and made life simpler for the both of us; it would only be time before I found someone else much like my previous infatuations. _

_Or so I thought._

_As we became closer friends, he began showing signs of attraction towards me. At first I thought it was my narcissistic side taking his actions towards me the wrong way. I tend to do that whether it's merely seeing two people conversing without hearing the actual conversation or overhearing something in the distance, I would always think it involved me when it does not. So I did not think much of it. _

_Don't get me wrong, I was still attracted to him and it was quite obvious to the people around me since I was often teased playfully about it. But still, it was completely harmless. It was just something amusing that classmates would poke fun at us for and nothing else. _

_Nothing serious. _

_Then one night we gave into our desires._

_When I was presented with the dilemma, I had two choices to make; two choices that would_ _determine the future of my emotional state and the future of our friendship:_

_1) Reject his advances: Nothing changes. Only he and I would know the choice he made but nothing came out of it. His decision to tell his partner is none of my business. _

_2) Reciprocate his advances: Everything changes. I risk emotional scars and a cycle of deceit is formed._

_And what did I choose?_

_I chose 2._

_And that was the beginning of my downward spiral into obsession and darkness over a relationship that did nothing but hurt in the end; the end of everything that I always believed in; the end of myself._

_But again I must repeat: Or so I thought._

"Why do you keep reading that passage, mon cher?"

Arthur placed down the corrected manuscript and looked up at the Frenchman. "I just felt like it, okay?" he replied with a scowl.

Francis scanned the page and recalled that that was the passage containing the least amount of grammar issues out of the whole manuscript. But the editor only assumed that it was because it was the most biographical part of the entire book since it described Arthur's involvement with Antonio so well. That or it was because it was the introduction and Arthur's brain was still fresh with inspiration when he wrote it. But regardless, it made him remember the night when he and Antonio had ended everything.

Arthur was a complete mess.

Hours of silence accompanied with a fair amount of drinking left the man looking like a hollowed wreck. He remembered when Arthur rang him up on the phone without saying much at first but then was asking why things would end so suddenly without as much of an explanation. He knew from the lack of life left in Arthur's voice that the relationship he had warned the Briton about had finally ended. The only thing Francis could do was run to him in his time of need. Despite their differences, a friend was a friend.

Francis nodded silently. "Whatever you say." he shrugged and took a seat next to Arthur. He took the manuscript from under Arthur's hands and flipped to the page where he left off with his editing. He wasn't half way through yet, but was getting there at least. Thank goodness for that.

"Don't you think Antonio will know this is about the two of you?" Francis asked as he crossed out a repeated word in one of the paragraphs. Editing while multitasking with another activity was Francis' specialty that took him years of putting up with meeting deadlines to master.

"All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental." Arthur recited quickly without flaw since he and Francis had had the same conversation many times before.

"Right. How can I forget?" the Frenchman sighed with amusement.

"I saw Antonio a while ago..." Arthur muttered suddenly.

Francis immediately stopped writing and almost yelled out a loud "I cannot believe you would do something like that." But instead, he paused and examined Arthur, wanting to at least let the man continue on with the story. Perhaps Arthur did not go running back into Antonio's arms like he assumed. Even though Antonio was Francis' friend, he thought the choice that said man made was not exactly the most intelligent choice. Sure, Francis was a player himself when it came to one night stands, but if he was involved in a serious relationship he would never think about being unfaithful. It just was not fair to both people. Just the thought of being unfaithful to Jeanne and hurting her when she was alive ripped the man's heart to pieces. That was why he made sure to cherish every moment he had with her. Call him an old fashioned romantic, but he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, which was why he was relieved to see her part with a smile on her face; the same smile she had when she first met him.

"_My happiest memory with you was when we first met..."_

Francis shook his head. This was no time to be living in the past again. Or to be precise in his case, crying over the past.

"I made peace with him." Arthur replied much to Francis' relief. "I just didn't want to feel as though we are enemies anymore."

"Ah, is that so?"

Arthur nodded.

"And how do you feel?"

"..."

"Arthur?"

"I..." he pulled on a few chunks of hair. "I...am fine."

"You do not sound fine, _Angleterre_."

Still Arthur said nothing.

Francis sighed and closed the manuscript. "Remember when I rushed to your place afterwards?" he asked and Arthur nodded questionably. "You were pulling and tugging on your hair." he took hold of Arthur's hand and took it off his head. "And remember how I said that you'll go bald if you keep pulling on your hair?"

Arthur grumbled stubbornly and pulled his hand away from Francis' grasp. "I just do not like thinking back to those times, alright?"

"Who does?" He knew exactly how Arthur felt whenever he would reminisce about Jeanne; whenever he always caught himself grieving over the fact that he will never get back what he had lost, he knew Arthur's exact emotions. And he always made sure to remind Arthur of that fact as well despite the younger man's protests. _"You should never undermine your pain by comparing it to the likes of mine"_ was what Arthur always nagged at Francis about whenever the Frenchman told him he knew how he felt.

"But I suppose it is better than hurting the way I did when we were together. We had good times but it there was just as much hurt involved." Arthur sighed.

Francis nodded. "It takes time, Arthur. But eventually you will get over it."

"Hopefully..."

Francis leaned back against the cushion of the old office chair and twirled his finger around a strand of hair. "Antonio is a nice guy, but what he did was not nice at all. So do not beat yourself up over it, _mon ami_. To be honest, I'd rather be in your position than Lovino's in the end." he reminded Arthur of that obvious fact while feeling equally sympathetic for Lovino. It was a shame that even now Arthur still blamed himself over the end of the relationship. Francis may not have been there when the beginning of the relationship and the end of it happened, but he at least knew this much: things were not meant to be from the very beginning. That was a harsh reality, but he just knew right from the get go that things were not meant to be as soon as he found out about Arthur's involvement with Antonio. Arthur being the "other person" was bad enough, but there was just something about Antonio and Arthur that just did not seem right. It was almost as if Arthur was meant to be with someone else; someone else whom he did not meet yet; someone who would bring him nothing but happiness rather than an equal balance of happiness and misery; someone who would not only run to Arthur whenever they needed comfort from their home but who would make Arthur their heart _and_ home.

"It's just hard to let him go, that's all..." Arthur mumbled. "I know this sounds preposterous, but when I saw Antonio again, a part of me wanted him to look at me the same way as he did before..."

"But you have to let that go eventually." Francis reasoned as he maintained his role as the reasonable one whenever Arthur's rational thinking was thrown off by his emotions.

"I know."

"You're a grouch, but you deserve better, _non_?"

Arthur smirked. "Why thank you, Frog."

"But I am serious, Arthur." Francis turned to face the other man. "I'm worried about your wellbeing. No one deserves to be alone and I know your loneliness has been an issue for you for quite a while. Don't you think it's time to let someone in your life?"

"Right now, I think I'm done with love and romance..." he got up from his seat to head to the pub across the street, but Francis stopped him by pulling him back down onto the seat. The last time he agreed to go to a pub when Arthur was emotionally unstable, he ended up having to take care of the drunken man. It wasn't because he hated being there for Arthur, but the crying and anger that came out of the Briton made Francis question his mental state. He even opted to stay with him for a week to make sure he wouldn't do something harmful to himself.

"Don't say that." Francis chuckled after seating Arthur back down. "Whoever it is, he or she is out there somewhere." he smiled. "I think you need someone right now. Or at least consider it."

"You might be right..." he replied with hesitation, not liking the idea of possibly being hurt again because of love. Because Heaven forbid, if it happened again, he didn't know how he would handle it. He was barely able to get through his ordeal with Antonio, so it was a good thing that the Frenchman was around during the time it happened. He had decided to just give up on love for good and even stopped believing in it. But that diehard romantic inside his heart made that impossible. So maybe Francis was right after all, maybe it _was_ time to let someone in.

Whoever that someone was.

"Artie!"

Both Francis and Arthur nearly jumped at the loud youthful voice from the hallway after the sound of the door slamming shut was heard. Then came stomping getting gradually louder and louder until there stood a blonde youth with his hair covered in small snowflakes in all his glory in front of the two men.

"Yo! What did I miss?" he laughed while Arthur approached the American to quickly pat the snow out o f his hair.

"Again. Why did you not wear a hat?" Arthur nagged while shaking the snow off of the coat he took off of Alfred.

"Come on! It wasn't that cold out!" he shivered but still maintained a stoic appearance. All Arthur did was roll his eyes.

"Really now...you Americans."

Francis smiled to himself and pushed back the chair with a slight scrapping sound on the ceramic floor. "Well you two, I'm going to go take a break. I need to use the toilet since _Angleterre_ here did not let me leave." he pointed at Arthur.

"Don't blame your laziness on me, you wine-sipper." Arthur snapped back much to Francis.

**XXX**

"So which one is it?"

"I...I can't pick..."

"Aw, come on, Artie! You have to pick ONE! You can't use them all, man!"

"Stop pressuring me!"

"I ain't pressuring you!"

"Oh, bloody hell!"

Two hours.

They had been at it for two hours in Arthur's other office in the city trying to decide on which picture he should use for the cover of his upcoming book. Alfred had dropped off the box of photos for the man to look at a long time ago, but the author had such a hard time deciding between all of the photos that he had procrastinated on the decision altogether. Not only that, but that other photo was still in the box as well...the photo of his sleeping self that he still didn't ask the American what was running through his mind when he decided to take it.

"I don't want to do this anymore" he sighed tiredly and slouched on the desk, earning an annoyed groan from Alfred. "There's too many to choose from, you sodding American."

"Well you can't use them ALL! There's like a million pics in there!"

"There are 75, Alfred." Arthur sighed.

"Whatever! Same thing!"

"Ugh..." Arthur grimaced at the box. "I have a headache."

Alfred picked up the box and ruffled through all the photographs. Some were black and white while some were full of colour, and yet, the Britain couldn't bring himself to choose when there plenty that were suitable for a book cover. Why was he so conflicted when all he had to do was pick one photo for a cover? Or maybe he just thought that everything the younger American created was amazing without any flaws. If that was the case, then it was something he could live with. But he still had to choose a cover.

"Come on, old man." Alfred sat down in defeat and slouched his whole body on the table. Not only was Arthur taking his sweet time with deciding the cover so early in the morning, but the author hasn't moved from the spot since they've been there. For two hours neither of them have taken a washroom nor coffee break. And much to the American's dismay, that gave him little opportunity to scrounge the box for the photo of Arthur he secretly took while the other man was asleep in his lap at the park. After many panics of the photo's whereabouts, Alfred finally remembered that he has placed the photo in the box for the time being. After all, they were developed on the same day and at the exact time. Normally he wouldn't mind with any other photo, but the thought of Arthur seeing that particular one made the American uneasy simply for the fact that it came off as slightly inappropriate. So what if he wanted a picture of Arthur all for himself? It was completely normal to admire those you find beautiful, right? But then again, taking someone's picture without their consent was also illegal and frowned upon according to Kiku.

He didn't want to be sued. He was too young for that.

Alfred bit his finger.

"What's the matter?" Arthur asked as he glanced over at the anxious photographer.

"Shit!" he said loudly and covered his mouth immediately after. "I mean...I feel shitty."

"What?" Arthur raised an eyebrow awkwardly as Alfred bit his finger harder. What now? The author was definitely trying to examine what was on Alfred's mind. He tried hard to distract himself, but evidently, that was not too effective judging by the way Arthur was studying him.

"Are you not well, Alfred?" Arthur asked.

An idea clicked in the young photographer's head that he couldn't believe that he didn't think of it before. What better way to distract Arthur than to have the man leave his side for a moment because that was all Alfred needed. Just a brief moment.

"I'm fine, man! But could you get us some coffee? I'm feeling a bit tired." he replied while faking a yawn. "Or better yet, make a fresh whole pot. I don't know how long the other pot has been sitting there for and I sure like my coffee to be fresh." he suggested since by doing that, it would take Arthur a much longer time.

"If you're going to have coffee, we can just get Francis to do it. I'm sure that frog is somewhere..."

"No!" Alfred interrupted. "I want you to do it!"

"Alright..." Arthur slowly got up from his seat and backed away, thinking that the youth's fatigue was probably driving him up the walls and that it would be a bad idea to be around him at the moment.

Alfred watched as Arthur exited the room and then proceeded to rummage through the box of photos. The last time he had the box, he remembered that the photo was at the bottom of the pile since he wanted to make sure no one who came across the box would find something so awkward near the top and possibly lecture him about the legal matters involved in stalking a celebrity. That was why Alfred found it all the more strange that he would forget such an important thing and would just hand off the box to Arthur without a second thought. Really, when it came to the British author Alfred was a complete scatter brain.

"Where the hell are you?" He rummaged through pictures of flowers, buildings and various shots over London from the old school building but still there was nothing. Had it been possible that Alfred could taken the photo out and left it at home after all? Impossible, how could he misplace something so valuable.

Valuable?

Alfred stopped for a moment and analyzed his actions. It was true that he did not want Arthur to see that photo because it would be extremely embarrassing for them both, but that wasn't driving Alfred's actions at the moment. What he really wanted was to be able to look at that photo every day the way he used to when he just had it developed. The way he always opened the box to dig it out from the bottom just to admire Arthur's soft features captured perfectly on camera. At first, Alfred thought he was just admiring his own camera skills to get some self-satisfaction out of a job well done, but then afterwards he realized that it was more than just his own skills and narcissism that kept drawing him to the photo.

"Are you kidding me?" he groaned while a few photos fell onto the table with a growing disappointment that he might not see that photo again.

"Where the hell are you, Arthur?" Alfred picked up and the box and turned it upside down, dumping its contents on the table's hard surface.

"I'm right here..."

Alfred glanced to his right to find Arthur with two cups of coffee in each of his hands and with his gaze on the mess of photos scattered on the table.

Alfred's mouth gaped open and close as he tried to come up with up plausible excuse as to 1) why the photos were scattered in a giant mess in front of him and 2) why was Alfred calling out to Arthur while looking through the pile of photos. The only reasonable explanation for both questions was that Alfred had most definitely lost his mind.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked as he continued to eye the photographs.

"I..." Alfred fumbled and quickly tried to straighten the scattered pictures. "...nothing." he grinned pathetically but knew for certain that the author did not believe him.

"Bollocks..." Arthur mumbled and set down the two beverages.

Alfred slumped on the table in defeat. There was no point in arguing when he couldn't even come up with a believable reason. He would be lucky if Arthur even believed that he wasn't insane. The American swallowed hard.

Arthur sighed at the mess before him and proceeded to tidy with the photos. He wasn't angry or anything and he definitely was not disturbed either. He was just curious. Even though Alfred didn't know it, Arthur had been watching him for quite a while after he returned with the two beverages. Although he was convinced that Alfred had lost his mind due to the recent incident with his twin brother, but the way the youth was scrambling through the photographs with such determination said otherwise to Arthur. It was as if he was looking for something precious; so precious that losing it would send him into a complete frenzy. It struck Arthur to the point that he just had to stop and stare for a moment to capture Alfred's emotions. It was fascinating to actually witness such a passionate look in person rather than imagine it through writing.

"If you're going to look for something at least take your time with it." Arthur stacked the photos back up and placed them into the box one pile at the time while making sure to separate the black and white ones from the coloured ones. "What exactly were you looking for anyways?" Arthur raised his eyebrow.

Alfred sighed in defeat and was ready to come clean to Arthur, but Francis gave the doorway a slight knock before entering.

"Ah, you two make so much noise."

"Francis!" Alfred greeted the French man with a wide grin. "What took you so long in there? Did you pass out on toilet or something?" he joked as he heard Arthur stifle a snort next to him.

"I am fine. I just thought you two could use some privacy" he winked and pulled a chair next to them and as Arthur scoffed. "Now, what did I miss?" he stared down at the table of photographs.

"Well Arthur here _was_ supposed to pick one of these photos for his cover. But we're not having any luck because _someone_ can't make up their mind." Alfred replied and earned an annoyed stare from the British Author.

"Ah. sounds just like something you would do, _Angleterre_."

"Frog." Arthur scoffed and placed a few photos back into the box.

"Now wait a second. What have we here?" Francis snagged a photo that Arthur was reaching for and examined it. "My...This is nice." He raised an eyebrow with interest.

Both Arthur and Alfred glanced over Francis at the same time. However, despite looking at the same photograph both men had complete opposite reactions that even Francis couldn't help but fight the desire to strangle the two for possibly keeping them all in the office even longer than initially intended. The day was far too nice for some as handsome as the Frenchman himself to be coop up in a crampy place with two idiots.

"Fuck no! Why that one?"

"Yes! That is brilliant!"

Alfred pulled the picture out of the editor's hand and shoved in back in the box with the rest. "Brilliant? What are you high or something, old man?"

Arthur in return sputtered. "I'll have you know that I happen to have a good taste in anything artistic, lad. Unlike some people. Are you quite certain that you are not the one who is intoxicated on whatever you Americans smoke on your days off?"

"Hey! That was uncalled for!"

"That face of yours is uncalled for..."

"_Oh mon Dieu!_ Can the both of you scoundrels just stop it?" Francis practically screeched, causing the two men to stop arguing immediately. "Just pick a cover and get on with it! I'm the editor and even I do not care about this!" Francis exclaimed to Arthur who merely brushed him off with no more than a roll with his eyes.

"You know what?" Arthur closed the box when all of the photos were back inside. "I can't decide this now." He pushed the chair back with a loud scrapping sound and exited the office.

"Whoa...Hey, Artie!" Alfred called after him but the other man had already exited the room, leaving the Frenchman and the American sitting there quietly. Francis sighed while Alfred stood up and hesitated on whether to go after the author or not.

"It's best you went after him." Francis chuckled. "He's a bit of a drama queen, so going after him is the best. He loves attention." Francis continued when the youth looked at him with a questionable gaze.

Alfred pushed back on his chair and made his way to the balcony of the building after stretching his muscles a bit. So Arthur liked attention? That thought was quite amusing to the American considering how cold the Briton usually came off to other people. He remembered Kiku explained that there was a Japanese term describing people with exactly those traits but he couldn't really remember the correct pronunciation at the moment. He would have to phone him up and ask later.

Alfred stepped out into the small balcony and squinted as the sun hit his eyes. Even though it was winter, the sun reflecting off the white surface of the snow bothered the American ten times more than the brightness in the summer. That was one thing he could honestly say he hated about Winter along with the cold. He cursed inwardly when the sun hit his eyes again as he went to look at the author leaning over the metal railing.

"You alright?" Alfred laughed at the older man's annoyed state.

"I'm fine." Arthur grumbled. "Just a little annoyed, lad." he smiled at Alfred to reassure the young man that it was nothing serious.

"Dude, I'm sure we can figure out a cover for your novel. If worse comes to worse, I'll take new photos and we can start fresh from those." Alfred suggested but Arthur shook his head.

"It's not that. Don't mind yourself over it."

"Then what is it?" Alfred had thought that maybe he had said or done something that might have thrown the author off, but the look of forlorn on the man's face said otherwise. He knew that every bit of frustration and sadness from Arthur was a figment of his past resurfacing to haunt him. And he hated it. He hated it because he did not want Arthur to suffer the same way as him. No, he would not wish upon the same pain onto others. Especially not someone he cared about as much as Arthur.

"It's just some things are hard to forget." Arthur spoke up suddenly.

"What?"

Arthur patted the wallet in his pocket; the very same wallet that contained the picture of himself that Alfred took a while back. He never told the American that he had swiped the photo for himself and nor was he planning to tell him yet. He figured that that was the photo Alfred was looking for so frantically earlier so that was why he had to step out of the room. He couldn't stay in there without feeling absolutely embarrassed for taking it.

"Nevermind...I wasn't in my right mind. I just needed some air. Let's go back inside, it's extremely cold." he rubbed his arms and gestured for Alfred back into the office with him. But before Arthur was able to brush past Alfred, he was grabbed by the arm and turned to face the younger man.

"Look..." Alfred began. "...I may not have been there when shit happened. And you weren't there when shit happened to me as well." he began uneasily. "But I just want to let you know that whatever we've been through, good or bad, in the end, that was all in the past. And whatever happens from here on, we can always be there for each other..." he looked away with embarrassment after having said something that anyone would consider corny and out of the cliché American movie.

Arthur in return stared at the younger American as if an even greater weight had been lifted off his chest. He wasn't able to respond or express anything equivalent to the kindness given to him by Alfred, but the only thing he could do was smile genuinely as the Winter sun reflected off his pale features that even Alfred had to take a second to marvel at the beauty before him; the beauty that was even too beautiful to be expressed in photographs; the beauty that Alfred wanted to keep in only his memory because the selfish part of him did not want Arthur to share that with anyone else.

"Thank you." Arthur replied as they both went back inside. As he watched Alfred walk over to Francis who was pointing at the box with the photographs inside and laughing, the French editor's words suddenly rang through him.

"_Don't you think it's time to let someone in your life?"_

**XXX**

When night came along, Alfred decided to walk Arthur home despite the older man's protests about feeling like an incompetent child who needed parental supervision. As they bickered light-heartedly, Arthur still wondered how they ended up agreeing for Alfred to stay over at his place again. It all started with Alfred mentioning that Matthew needed a night alone to recuperate from his jetlag and having Alfred around only made it harder for him to calm his system. Not that it was meant in a negative light, but the young photographer explained Matthew's need to be alone during tedious times in order to relax. It was also the reason why he didn't have many friends back home. He just preferred to be alone to sort out his thoughts as much as he loved his brother. But Alfred did not have to explain any further because Arthur fully understood Matthew's preference.

"My, I suppose we will get along really well in the future." Arthur chuckled into the cold air around him.

"This is, if Mattie even wants to see you."

"Doesn't bother me." Arthur shrugged and they both laughed at the irony behind two adults who preferred being alone becoming best friends. The whole idea just sounded ridiculously impossible if not pointless. "But keep him away from Francis. That wine-loving ninny would sleep with anything with a pulse."

Alfred burst out laughing and covered his mouth with his gloved hand when he heard his voice echo loudly through the night street. "Jesus Christ, Artie! You make him sound horrible!"

"I only speak the truth, Mr. Jones." he replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh God..." Alfred clutched his sides while trying to hold back more laughter. "You have nothing to worry about. Mattie's only into the ladies."

As the two men joked and laughed, Arthur's heart sank as soon as they passed Antonio's cafe. The American's word's faded from his sensory as he stared into the cafe window in search of the Spaniard. He scanned the first window with empty seating near the area but finally found the man emerging from the corner with empty plates in his one hand while wiping the tables off with the other.

It was nostalgic.

Those years of happy memories came back in an instant that Arthur almost forgot about the pain that he endured. That was exactly what Francis warned him about when he was seeing Antonio; the tendency for Arthur to focus on the good rather than the bad of the whole situation. Arthur hated himself for doing that and yet he caught himself always saying "what if" or "maybe" to glorify the whole ordeal. But the Briton shook those thoughts out when he saw that the person Antonio was so happily laughing with was actually Lovino sitting on one of the chairs near the empty table across from the window. For a second, Arthur felt a hard tug at his chest after seeing Antonio was still very much in love with his partner, but then was surprised to find that that feeling was no longer as intense as it was in the past. Not only that, but the feeling was different from all the other times. It was a hard tug but it lasted no longer than a second in comparison to the days and even weeks of heartache he went through before.

It shocked him but he felt happy.

Really happy.

He was getting better.

He was actually getting better.

He took one last glance into the cafe and faced forward, literally leaving behind the past as everything that had to do with Antonio and their time together passed in less time it took for him to walk by the cafe completely.

"...rtie?"

"Hm?" Arthur looked at Alfred and was met with a quizzical smile.

"Have you heard anything I said?" Alfred laughed.

"Sorry...I..." Arthur cleared his throat when he found himself caught off guard at the youthful voice tearing through the darkness to wrap him in a warm embrace of comfort; a comfort that almost melted Arthur's heart and made him weak at the knees. It was like a heavy blanket keeping him warm on that cold Winter night.

"I was saying, let's give choosing the cover another try when we get back to your place!"

"Oh. Sure, if that is what you want, Alfred."

Alfred stuffed his hands into his pockets and let out a big puff of air. "Man, am I going to be like this when I'm older? I repeated myself like a million times!" he complained.

"I'm just a little tired." he held back a yawn fighting to come on at the moment.

As they completely passed the cafe, time went back to normal for Arthur and he finally resumed full attention on Alfred who was now going on about how they should have Peter over again since the next day was the beginning of the weekend. But Arthur knew that that wouldn't be possible for a long time. He tugged on Alfred's elbow. "Don't be such a child. I'm not senile _yet_." he smirked. He took one last look at the cafe before crossing the street with Alfred.

"Arthur, are you sure you're alright?" Alfred asked with concern, noting Arthur's lack of attention in the past few minutes.

"I am. Quit pestering me, you wanker." he gave Alfred's arm a light playful shove.

"Alright, alright." Alfred complained but when he saw Arthur look back at the cafe, he knew what was running through his mind. He knew that Arthur was saying his last goodbyes to his past and finally letting go; letting go of something that could never be the way it was in the past; letting go and moving on. And he knew that it was not easy for Arthur. The pain on the man's face when they passed the store was obvious that Antonio meant a lot to Arthur; probably far more than what the Briton meant to the Spaniard himself, unfortunately. All Alfred wanted to do was to tell him that he didn't have to worry because he would do as much as he could to fill the holes that Antonio left in Arthur's heart. However, the American mentally slapped himself when he realized that that could be have been taken the wrong way if he had actually said it out loud.

Hence, he refrained from questioning the author's lack of attention when they approached the cafe.

But what got his mind boggling was why he even considered saying something like that in the first place. Friends usually don't say things like that, right? Either way Alfred would probably receive a good punch in the face since saying something at such a time seemed like a bad idea. Perhaps there was something else he could say that was comforting but would not scare off Arthur.

"When one door closes, another...well, the rest is self-explanatory. You _are_ an author so you must have heard that quote a shit ton of times." he said, immediately feeling stupid for saying something that Arthur was probably going to laugh in his face about. Alfred's face went red as he prepared himself to be the object of ridicule.

That left Arthur confused. It was almost as if the youth had read his mind. But instead of questioning Alfred, Arthur just lit up.

"You're right!"

"Come again?"

Arthur raised his head from his scarf and looked ahead bravely. "You're right!" he said again except more enthusiastically this time. "Thank you, Alfred!"

Alfred blinked a few times at Arthur's unexpected behaviour. "You're welcome?"

Arthur wrung his arm around Alfred's and pulled him forward. "Why don't we go to the pub near my house again? I'm sure Toris and those blokes would love to hear you sing!"

"Really? You mean it?" Alfred asked with increasing excitement.

"Of course! I ran into Toris myself the other day when I was coming home and he questioned me about you." Arthur smiled smugly.

"Well, alright then!"

"Now onwards we go, my dear Alfred! To the pub!" Arthur pointed forward and Alfred couldn't help but laugh at how much he resembled a pirate setting sail.

As they both practically skipped down the night snowy sidewalk, Alfred was relieved to see Arthur let loose and enjoy himself without a care in the world. Since Arthur's behaviour at the moment was a rare occurrence, Alfred made sure to savour every last bit.

"Let's move on together..." Alfred whispered quietly under his breath, thinking that the author did not hear him. But the words rang through Arthur's ears as clear as day and the man only thanked his dark surroundings for hiding the blush rising up his face and ears.

Arthur tightened his hold on Alfred's arm.


	10. Interlude: Alfred

A/N: This is just a short interlude that I wrote for fun. I wasn't going to upload on here but I thought you guys might enjoy it as a break since it's short to read. This is just Alfred's point of view back in chapter one. Arthur's interlude is next. I hope this isn't confusing.

* * *

><p>Interlude: Alfred<p>

_I was standing just on the roof looking down; looking down at what would be my next photoshoot of the city of London from this Victorian school. I never knew why the magazine company always requested the same pictures of the city over and over again. I'm sorry, but having the same scenery with the Big Ben as the centre of attention but in different angles does not make things more 'creative.' Of course I never said anything to the company or else I would get my ass canned on the spot. Unfortunately, it wasn't worth it with the salary that I was making. I just wished the guy in charge would realized how much he lacked in creativity. In my opinion, photographing this old school itself would show off London's tourist attractions a lot more effectively. Not only that, but it would display the city's charm. Whoever gave my boss a degree in photography and journalism needs to be kicked in the face._

_I stepped over the ledge of the building and was dangerously close to the very edge. Judging from the height, I was at least ten stories from the ground floor and one little tap would probably send me plummeting down towards the concrete. And we know what happens to human bodies when they fall from that height. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out! Or in my case, I wouldn't need Mattie to help me figure that out since studying to be a doctor is his life. The ledge crumbling from old age wasn't reassuring either. Despite how high I was, I wasn't scared. _

_I wasn't scared at all. _

_In fact, the wind that was cutting across my skin and making me sway slightly made me feel alive. I felt so alive that I didn't care if I looked crazy from the pedestrians down below. I didn't care if they started yelling about a bloody American lunatic looking like he was going to kill himself by jumping off the building or that he was so crazy that he actually thought he could fly like a fucking bird. _

_I just didn't care. _

_It was at that moment that I had completely forgotten about my task at hand. The fact that I had to photograph a picture slipped my mind as I started bathing myself in this feeling of being completely free; free from everything that shackled me and bounded me to the depths of misery; free from the ropes of tyranny that ripped away the familiar and replaced it with uncertainty._

_Free from everything._

_I closed my eyes to savour that feeling before I had to let it go. I kept my eyes closed and didn't open them for a long time for I didn't want to come back to reality. I didn't want to come back to a world that never existed for me; a world that seemed perfect but was rotten from the very start. London may be different from America, but it's still the same world. Running away did nothing but help me turn a blind eye to what was there. _

_As I began to lean forward a tad bit, I felt myself being pulled back harshly by an unknown force. A loud thud was heard as I came crashing backwards onto the roof of the building with something cushioning my impact. I suddenly realized that that something was someone and that I was not alone when sounds of heavy breathing could be heard behind me._

_"J-just what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Came a voice ringing through my ears._

_I finally opened my eyes to find that returning to my world didn't seem so bad after all._

_-Alfred F. Jones_


End file.
